


Prima Nocta

by thrillhaus



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Gender Roles, M/M, OR IS IT, Rimming, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Repression, Wedding Night, based on Han Solo's porn stash, fucking around and falling in love, life day was real and sensual, look there's just general fucking in this, marriage plotting, sexual openness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-07-16 02:45:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16076723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thrillhaus/pseuds/thrillhaus
Summary: Kylo finds out about Hux's engagement. He convinces Hux that he has the right to the first night with his bride, then convinces him to take the bride's place.Hux has some bridal night jitters. Kylo helps him through them.Hux enjoys himself more than he expected to. He's not happy about that. This leads to further entanglements. Which one of them will end up in this marriage?





	1. Chapter 1

_ This is like having sand rubbed into my brain. _

The Supreme Leader of the First Order fidgets through a meeting as the officers around him drone on about some military operation. He knows the basics, but the details tire him. His deep, bone-racking boredom expresses itself through movement--tapping his fingers, rocking in his chair. At the last such meeting, he had bent a stylus until it broke and the beam burnt his hand. The men had noticed his jump of pain, and their petty thoughts turned toward him.  _ Silly, foolish, unprofessional, if only he wasn’t what he was... _

As his  _ very  _ trusted second-in-command, General Armitage Hux sits at his side, everything that Kylo Ren is not. Hux enjoys being still, prides himself on how long he can lock himself into place and  _ look _ like the perfect officer. It’s rumored that he was trained from birth, put into a uniform in the cradle. 

But even Hux is a bit bothered during today’s meeting, putting a hand to his neck more than once, his cuff falling down to reveal his skinny white wrist. It’s an unfamiliar bit of agitation from the usually ramrod-straight general. Kylo hasn’t even  _ threatened _ to choke Hux for a long time now, so there’s no reason for him to constantly be scratching at his neck. It’s not an unpleasant distraction.

As the last questions about battle plans are hashed out and rehashed again, Hux draws something out from underneath his collar, just for a moment. Kylo sees the glint of a molecular chain hooked around Hux’s finger, silver against the black of his glove. 

_I see._ Hux keeps various weapons on his person, of varying levels of uselessness against Kylo’s power. _He’s going to try to kill me_. At last, something interesting is going to happen at one of these meetings. Kylo has been waiting for the attempt, for Hux to decide not to be useful anymore and turn on him. He’s not very afraid of what happens next, almost regrets that the anticipation is over.

The officers finally allow their Supreme Leader to give a wave of approval, and they file out of the room. Except for the general. He gets to stay behind.

“What are your orders, Supreme Leader?” Hux puts an extra twist in his awful voice. He still hates saying Kylo’s title, and Kylo likes watching him taste that hate.

He projects his strength underneath the chain round Hux’s neck and  _ pulls. _

What flies into his hands is so odd that he almost ignores Hux’s squeal of pain and surprise. It’s not a bomb trigger or a vial of poison. 

It’s a  _ locket _ . 

When Kylo opens it, a holoportrait appears of a pale-skinned young human woman, her light hair done up in one tight bun. She’s dressed in neat civilian clothing, and her features remind him of one important captain or another. Honestly, he should know who her father is, but he can’t overcome a childhood spent with humans and creatures of all sorts. Every officer in the First Order looks the same to him. 

“Who is this girl?”

Hux lifts his chin in defiance. “My  fiancée .” 

“ Fiancée ?” Hux? Getting married? Acquiring a human connection? This is bad, although it’s hard to figure out exactly why at the moment. He’s probably conniving with this woman, or with her unknown father.

“You’re marrying this woman? Congratulations.” Kylo tries to pluck her name out of Hux’s mind, but Hux is on to him, mentally running through a list of all the names he knows for human females.  _ Aula, Betta, Rae, Tash, Kira, Freya, Jyn _ . “Does she know about it?”

“I received her consent, yes.”  _ As you were unable to, with your girl.  _ Oh, Hux can fuck off about that. He doubts very much that  _ this _ girl had much say in the matter, that Hux has anywhere near the intimacy with her that Kylo had with--never mind. That connection is broken, for now.

Kylo taps at Hux’s mind, more out of irritation than curiosity. Hux puts up no resistance. His thoughts are easy to get to--as if he wants to show everything to Kylo Ren, to taunt him with what he thinks he can’t achieve.

Here stands fantasy Hux, the proud head of the household, looking over his wife and children as they picnic in a fancy park next to a big fancy house. The scene is cliched.  _ Extremely _ cliched, the human version of a painting that a really soppy Wookiee would give to his wife on Life Day. But it still affects Kylo. He taught himself that this sort of scene was a lie, a long time ago, but it still poisons his mind somehow.

To free himself from falsehood, Kylo concentrates on the details, or more the lack thereof, that betray the archetype and make the vision uniquely Hux’s. The woman who Hux is supposed to spend the rest of his life with hardly moves. The children they’ve had together are almost smears on the landscape, they’re that ill-conceived. The park doesn’t even have a sun, although given Hux’s complexion, perhaps that’s on purpose. It’s all so… ready-made.

Kylo considers checking to see exactly how many medals Hux has put on his dream uniform, because certainly Hux has imagined that many a time, but suddenly that seems like an tiresome exercise in paranoia. 

He disengages. “Your vision of family life is banal in the extreme, General.”

“You mean it’s orderly. Productive.” Hux arranges a cuff, as if to show off how neat he is. “Empires have always needed that sort of order. Husband, wife, children. All together in one unit.” 

And here’s Hux, dutifully doing his part. 

Kylo Is not going to let this slide.

“You haven’t asked my permission to marry.”

Hux dares to sneer at him. “I wasn’t aware that your authority extended into the personal affairs of your officers.”

“My authority extends everywhere. You would do best to remember that.”

The sneer vanishes. Kylo immediately feels himself more on balance, happier for seeing Hux put back in his place.

“When is the happy day?”

“I--we haven’t set it yet.”

“I’ll set it for you. There’ll be a grand ceremony. The Supreme Leader, presiding over the marriage of the greatest general in his army and his beautiful bride.”

Hux bites down a  _ no _ , but he can’t stop his lip from curling in disgust. That’s interesting. Hux  _ should _ enjoy the opportunity to show himself off, especially if it’s something that sets him apart from his  _ immature _ leader, but no. He’s disappointed about Kylo’s discovery of a detail of some plot or other, of course, but there’s a real pang of regret that has nothing to do with ambition. 

Hux had wanted something for himself, away from the eyes of others, and now feels as if he’s in for his inevitable punishment for transgressing against the ethos of the First Order.  _ And _ he had wanted this unaccustomed privacy because he rather suspects that, in the romantic department, he lacks something, won’t quite measure up to the glorious figure he cuts when he’s giving one of his speeches. He can hardly admit it to himself, but he might not be--admired?

Whatever transpires between him and his bride, it’s best done in the dark.

“What a sour expression. I see you don’t want that. I’m aghast, you turning down a public appearance. But I will graciously allow you to marry in private.”

Hux’s shoulders lower a fraction in relief. “If I could be excused, Supreme Leader, I have some very important  _ military  _ business to attend to.” 

“Wait.” Kylo can’t let this precious opportunity to a just slip through his fingers. He wants to see him squirm some more, hurt him personally. Get him where he’s weakest.

_ Best done in the dark _ .

Kylo opens his mouth and starts in on what’s hardly a plan at all.

“You do know about the custom of first night?”

Hux knits his brows in discomfiture. “Of what, the standard month?” 

“It’s my privilege, as it was the privilege of my masters before me. As leader, I spend the first night with whomever marries within my demense.”

This isn’t a custom of any Force users that Kylo can think of, light or dark, and he doesn’t know what a demense is. He’s quoting a line from one of the scratchy old holoporn vids he had found stashed behind the panels of the Falcon. Hopefully Hux hasn’t watched “Night With a Princess of Naboo.”

Hux goggles. Guess he skipped that one. “Spend the night?”

“I sleep with them. We fuck, if you need it spelled out.”

“No. If you dare put a hand on my--” Hux catches himself before he says the woman’s name out loud, but Kylo hears it anyway. He files it away for future use. 

“I don’t see the problem. You’ll have your  _ Norra _ for the rest of your life. I’ll try not to get her with child, if that’s what you fear.” It’s the wrong thing to say, not because it’s crude, but because he remembers Hux’s family vision, how sketchy it was. Perhaps Hux values his bride so little that he’ll simply take Kylo up on the offer. For some reason, Kylo doesn’t want him to fold that quickly.

What if he does agree? Kylo imagines Hux on the other side of a door, peering through a peephole into his own nuptial chambers, miserable yet aroused. Touching himself as he watches his greatest rival take his new wife in his arms, crushing her under the strength of his muscles, her crying out as she takes his massive cock.

There are two problems with this scenario. First, there’s a chance that Hux could rush in and try to stab him while he’s distracted. Second, he doesn't want to fuck a tired, tipsy, miserable bride in front of an audience. It probably wouldn't make him look good. Hux would probably watch, then grade him on execution.  _ Clumsy fucking, Ren. Did you make my wife come? Thought not.  _

The only good part of his fantasy is watching  _ Hux _ disintegrate. Writhing in agony, his perfectly composed, haughty face crumpling in voyeuristic pleasure that he doesn’t want, but can’t resist. Perfect little officer, squirming in his seat at his own weakness, at Kylo’s strength pouring into--

All right. He’d rather have Hux than the bride.

If that’s what he wants, why not take it directly? 

“There is a way around it.” 

“What?” 

“You can take her place.”

“That’s impossible.” Hux’s entire face puckers in disgust.

“Why not?”

“I’m not the bride.” But behind that citra-sucking mask of disapproval, Kylo can sense interest, like a dowser senses a river running deep underneath the ground.

“Do you think the universe caves to your order in this? I merely require one partner from the ceremony. It doesn’t matter which one. I mentioned your bride in deference to the values of the Order.  _ Your _ values. Not mine.”

“Oh.” Hux bites his lip. 

“Make your choice. You, now, or Norra, later.”

Hux blushes at the mention of his fiancee’s name. He’s burning with shame, just as Kylo wanted him to be.

“I’ll do it. For Norra, for the Order, I’ll do it.” 

“Very well. You’ve made your choice. Prepare to receive me.” 

Hux nods, then swivels in place just like he’s on parade. He marches over to the conference table, places his hands firmly on top and tilts his rump back. 

Aha. Hux expects to be promptly savaged. Kylo doesn’t like that Hux has this idea of him, that he’s simultaneously a brute and a child. He’s a grown man, and he doesn’t have to just stick his cock in any available hole first thing.

Kylo slips the greatcoat off Hux’s shoulders, leaning into his neck. Hux smells like the standard-issue officer’s aftershave, with an unexpected undertone of sweet spice. Kylo recognizes the scent of paia leaves from years and years ago, from afternoons spent cooking with his nanny. Hux must stick a leaf in the bottle as a private indulgence. 

Kylo runs his tongue underneath Hux’s ear to see if he can catch the taste, but nothing comes through except salt.

“What--what are you doing?” 

“I want you as my bride. My bride, for this one evening. I won’t harm you.”

“I don’t believe that.” But Hux’s tone is less mocking then expected. “Like I told you, I’m no bride.”

But Kylo can sense that he wouldn’t mind being one. Kylo has seen all sorts of commitment ceremonies, not all of which involved two genders or two participants or even just one species. Everything is normal to him. But Hux has grown up with laughably strict gender roles, and the idea of transgressing them in such a flagrant way both horrifies and excites him. He hates himself for wanting what he sees as the weaker role, but he desperately wants it as well, to be acted upon by a greater power without any responsibility of his own. 

_ It’s out of my control, I’ve done nothing wrong. It’s for you, Norra, that I make this sacrifice. _

It’s probably the most noble sentiment that Hux has ever expressed. Especially because Hux is thinking of his hardon at the same time.

Poor Hux. Kylo will give him a sweet martyrdom, just as sweet as paia leaves.

He reaches around and begins to undo the clasps of Hux’s tunic. “There are so many of these little buttons on your wedding dress… you’re all wrapped up for me, like a gift.” 

“Oh, really.” Hux tsks, but his voice is already catching. “What kind of gift? Expensive, I hope.” 

“Of course. You look lovely in your finery. But it’s hard for me, to hold myself back. I want to see what you wore for me tonight. Underneath.” Kylo kisses Hux’s neck. Hux’s pulse flutters underneath his lips. “How you’ve made yourself even more beautiful just for me. Things that only I can ever see.”

Kylo puts his hands around Hux’s waist, guides him so they’re facing each other. “Let me see you in the light.” 

Hux is flushed bright bloody red, his eyes downcast, either to feign the modesty of a bride or so Kylo can’t see his full expression. It doesn’t matter what the intent is, the effect is good.

“My, what a beautiful bride they’ve brought me tonight.” Kylo kneels and works open the buckle of Hux’s belt. It’s not a belt in this fantasy, it’s, uh-- “Let me undo your creamy white sash. Let me open you up.” He brushes his hand over Hux’s crotch. He’s hard as a rock underneath the layers of fabric. 

“Take off your--” What the fuck would a bride be wearing in the bedroom? He tries to remember those holovids, but it’s not like he was watching them for the fashion and besides, half of it was Wookiee porn anyway. Wookiees don’t wear clothes. “Take off your nightgown.”

_ Nightgown  _ is the least sexy word in the universe and it doesn’t even make sense, but it convinces Hux. 

“As you wish.” He shrugs his tunic off and slowly works his undershirt over his head. Hux is built very thin, slightly flabby at the belly, and paper white, with dark pink nipples that he quickly hides, clutching his arms around his chest just like a real shy virgin. 

_ I wish it was darker in here. _

Kylo traces his fingers across Hux’s forearms, watching the tiny glinting hairs rise on end at his touch. “Put these down. Let me see your beautiful br--”

Hux awaits the word like he awaits a punch. 

Kylo doesn’t understand the issue. Hux may be a bit fleshy there, but he’s nothing out of the normal run of male humanity. 

Hux projects his disagreement, loudly.  _ This _ was his real weakness, why he wanted everything to be so private. He considers what’s underneath the neat, trim exterior of his uniform almost as deformed, too fat and too thin at the same time, gluey-skinned and weak. He’s not at all what a  _ real  _ officer should be. In his lowest moments, he’s even considered having parts of himself reshaped, but the humiliation of revealing that he, the tactical genius, puts a even a second of mental time toward these trifling matters of appearance keeps him from it. 

It’s not that trifling when he’s naked with someone else.  _ Won’t want me, won’t have me, I’ve fallen right back into the old trap-- _

Kylo doesn’t push Hux’s arms down. Instead, he concentrates, sending little feather touches against what Hux is hiding. 

Hux gasps, and his arms drop to his side. He’s very sensitive, and he knows it--he’s thinking of his own habits now, of how in the rare moments when he practices self-release, he allows himself a bit of friction, rubbing a finger over his undershirt.

“You were hiding these little strawberries from me. And they look so sweet. Let me taste them.”

Kylo puts his mouth to Hux’s chest, lapping at the little peak that forms against his tongue. 

_ Ah, he’s touching me, he doesn’t think I’m--but-- _ Kylo can’t see Hux’s face, but the sounds he’s making would be enough even without his thoughts; he’s writhing, out of control, abject under Kylo’s lips. 

Kylo can feel his own cock straining against his breeches.  _ This is amazing, I’m destroying the fucking Starkiller with my tongue alone.  _ He almost can’t give himself enough credit for thinking this up.

“You like that. You didn’t know pleasure before this, did you?”

“No, I haven’t, ah--husband.”

“You can’t imagine how many brides I’ve been through. They usually tire me. It’s nothing more than a duty I have to undertake as Supreme Leader.” Kylo sighs. “But tonight, I enjoy myself. Don’t be scared.” 

Kylo undoes Hux’s fly, works his jodhpurs down around his skinny hips.  

“Look at the panties you wore for me. What delicate white lace for your wedding night.” They’re only gray briefs, but just the idea of wearing something meant to attract, of his cockhead straining agaisnt a pattern of pretty flowers, sends a pulse of desire coursing through Hux. He shudders when he Kylo traces a line across the bulge of his belly, trembles when Kylo eases the half-soaked briefs down his hips. He’s this close to coming already. 

“Ah. You kept yourself for me. Pristine.”

“Yes, I did. I was good.”

Who knows whether Hux is telling the truth or he’s merely carried away on the fantasy. It doesn’t really matter, though, this virgin stuff. Not when there’s more interesting things to explore. Hux is thin all over, thin dick, thin bush, but what’s there is the exact same color as the hair on his head, bright orange. How the fuck does that happen? Is it natural? Does he  _ dye _ it? Is everyone in the First Order like this? 

Kylo pinches a hair between his fingers and pulls. Hux yelps.

“I keep a lock of hair from every bride. I know it hurts, sweetheart, but I’ll keep these silky golden locks forever.”

“Golden?” Hux huffs.  “My hair is  _ russet _ .”

OK, so Kylo wasn’t born into a weird pale enclave of Imperials and he doesn’t know all of Hux’s arcane words for hair colors. He was trying his best not to say orange.

“Your silky russet hair.” They’re supposed to be fucking, not doing protocol exercises. Kylo slips his hand to the sensitive spot above his hole, traces a finger round his rim. Hux moans softly, showing his appreciation, pushing against Kylo’s touch. He’s less irritating like this, Kylo thinks. 

Hux is thinking too, so much so that Kylo finds his own thoughts fading, washed away by whatever’s pouring out of Hux’s mind. He’s not thinking about playing husbands and wives at all now. Instead, Kylo feels as if he is Hux, sharing a bit of the man’s fantasy. They’re--Hux is--standing in what must be a large training pond or maybe even an ocean, mud-brown waves licking between his--Hux’s--legs. Water doesn’t behave like that, like a thousand little tongues, Kylo thinks, then he realizes that Hux has never been in an ocean and this is how he thinks it feels. It’s sad, that Hux is so shipbound, that he has all these odd ideas about marriage and sex and his body.

Hux doesn’t know that his fantasy is so odd. He’s simply happy to be one with something that can’t gaze back at him, that will leave him clean. Every wave buoys him up on a new round of pleasure, as if the ocean knows his dirty secrets and wants to tease him. It’s raining, now, too, and he’ll dissolve into it and he doesn’t care, he’s not even a man in this moment but a creature, every part of him longing for that next swell, that next touch.  _ Let me go, let me join with you, please, please, marry me-- _

Hux goes off almost the moment that Kylo puts a hand on his cock. He’s not large, and Kylo feels cum seep through his fingers. He’ll remember the noise Hux made as as he came. It was like the sound Hux made when Kylo threw him into that wall, but even more satisfying.

Kylo knows that he should say something about brides again, but he’s too busy memorizing Hux as he is right now. He’s wrecked, his reed of a body covered in sweat, trying to catch his breath with strange little sips of air, as if there’s something in his mouth that he can’t show. Does Hux have bad teeth? He’s never seen him smile full enough to know.

_ I did that. I made him this way. _

He’s happy, for a moment, until he realizes that he’s run out of fantasy and he’s still hard.

Hux surprises him by leaning down and working at the zips on his boots. He kicks away his jodhpurs, his wet briefs, until he’s left in his socks and garters. There’s some sort of wedding tradition involving garters, but Kylo can’t remember it right now. 

His movements have changed; he’s regaining something of his rigid bearing. “Sit down for me.”

Kylo obeys. It doesn’t feel degrading, more as if he’s being tended to by an inferior. This is what Hux thinks a wife acts like, he realizes. A little like a droid. Kylo can’t help but remember every woman he grew up with.  _ Oh, is he fucking wrong. _

But Hux is undoing his breeches, so it’s not like Kylo is going to tell him that.

Without a word, Hux begins to perform his wifely duty.

Kylo has always thought that there was something kind of sloppy about using your mouth too much during sex, that it’s below his dignity, or maybe that it’s just too difficult. This may be a result of teenage fumbles, of the one time he tried it himself, on a fellow student’s ovipositor. He still remembers Ravki rolling their eyes.  _ You’re  _ much _ too impatient to do this right _ .

Of course, Hux is not impatient at all. He has a steady pace and a total lack of a gag reflex. Where did he learn to do this? Is this how he got to the top so young? Kylo runs his fingers through Hux’s hair, feeling the gel crack between his fingers. The man doesn’t respond, even when Kylo pulls a fistful of that orange glow. Kylo likes that, feels himself coming closer to the edge. He tries to hold himself back, fucks himself into Hux’s mouth just to see if he can break Hux’s stride, but the man is too fucking efficient. 

_ I’m going to come _ \--and as it happens, Kylo feels a  _ tooth _ snag along his shaft, and  _ of course  _ this would fucking happen and he’s going to  _ bite me _ \--

Before Kylo can dole out any punishment for this breach of trust, Hux pulls away. He  _ swallows _ , prim-faced, and his shoulders bounce in what can’t be anything other than a suppressed belch. 

Hux fishes around in his greatcoat, brings out a handkerchief and actually wipes his lips. Then he kneels between Kylo’s legs and begins to dab at Kylo’s cock. At first this seems like an attempt to start another round, but no, he really means what he’s doing. 

“There. Nice and clean.” Hux folds the handkerchief into a neat square and slips it back into his pocket. He gathers up all his clothing in preparation to redress himself.

Kylo watches as Hux becomes the general again. It’s like nature in reverse, a pale Tuva-star moth sealing itself up back inside its cocoon. Hux’s movements become even more programmatic as he goes along, until he’s standing in full parade rest in front of Kylo, hands clasped behind his back, face pale, not even a trace of sweat on his sharp cheekbones. He probably still smells like aftershave and paia leaves, right down to his slimy panties.

“Have I fulfilled the terms of your ritual, Supreme Leader?”  _ Everything _ is back in place, even the sneer in his voice. Except for his hair--locks are sticking out, and little flakes of dried gel flutter down and settle on the shoulders of his greatcoat. He doesn’t have his cap with him, either. 

Kylo brushes the flakes away, tucks a surprisingly long,  _ russet  _ lock behind Hux’s ear, where he’d kissed him before. He doesn’t want anyone else to see what he’s done to the general. This version of Hux is strictly for him.

“Very much so. You are dismissed.”

Hux nods, although he stands for an extra heartbeat, chin tilted, as if he’s waiting for something else--praise? acknowledgement?--then whirls on his heel.

Kylo gets it the moment after the door shuts. What do husbands and wives do when they part? A sweet little goodbye kiss. That’s not how marriage really works, but Hux doesn’t know any better. Hux had gotten confused at the end about what was happening, as if they were partners instead of lord and bride. Mouthing off about his hair. That was typical.  _ Marry me, please, please.  _ That was… not. 

He still has the locket. Hux hadn’t asked for it back. Kylo flips it open and shut a few times, watching the girl’s smiling face appear and disappear.

_ What if I threatened to give it to the girl? Or… her father? There’s all sorts of things I can do to make him earn this back. If I want to. _

Hux must know that, too.

Kylo smiles. He’s going to have to think up something past first night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why are there so many redheads in the modern space nazi community? it is a mystery


	2. Chapter 2

_ I’m ruined. Completely and utterly ruined. _

Armitage Hux stands shivering in an access corridor near his personal suite. It’s not ideal in terms of climate, but it’s fit for his purpose in other ways. There are places like this in every ship--where cameras and droids eyes’ don’t reach, where sound doesn’t carry. Hux has made use of such spaces before, for deadlier, less shameful purposes. 

He’s brought certain things with him for what he plans to do--blankets, a pillow, a little jar, some other things he won’t consider right now. He arranges them carefully, snapping out the largest blanket so it covers the dank durasteel floor, then arranging the pillow on top, just so.

In the dim service light, it looks austere, neatly arranged. It reminds him of his childhood cot, actually.

_ I thought I was old enough to know my own habits. _

Hux lies down, presses his hands between his thighs to warm them up. 

The recent military turmoil has had its effects on his private life. 

To put it more plainly, he now  _ has _ a private life. One that is perhaps more complicated than he is presently equipped to handle.

The first complication: His engagement. 

It isn’t a matter of emotion, but of strategy. Hux had assumed that Kylo Ren would continue to be his main enemy. They’d been rivals before, and Hux had had no doubt that Ren--angry, childish, petulantly destructive--would continue his wretched behavior. But until very recently, he’s been remarkably--no, not kind. Calm? 

_ Indolent _ might be the correct word. For all his talk about a glorious new future, Ren prefers a familiar interlocutor to communicate with the rest of the officer corps. He’s not very interested in anything that doesn’t catch his fancy in the moment, and nothing about the Order particularly interests him, except what part it can play in his mystical future. As far as Hux can make out Ren’s line of thought, he’s used to working with Hux, and therefore, Hux stays, as it’s too much trouble to deign to work with someone new. Had the previous leader preferred Canady or Peavey, presumably Canady or Peavey would be by Ren’s side.

Peavey, there’s a sour thought. Hux had never considered that his fellow officers might be a problem, but now he notices cold looks, whispers that cease when he passes through the halls. Old rumors springing up that he thought had died long ago, along with the miscreants who spread them. In the first few cycles after Crait, he had imagined his fellow men allied with him against Ren, ready to rise up. But they think differently of him than he did of them. He needs support.

So, the pact. Raydus Perisingo-Yaxx is possibly the oldest lieutenant in the First Order. He really shouldn’t even have a rank, by right, but long ago he had been a Moff and it was considered apt to give him some sort of title in return. He’s supposed to be fabulously rich, to have contacts with various unsavory characters. Enough of these rumors are true that an alliance with him would give Hux a significant advantage over the insubordinate minority.

Yaxx has one legitimate daughter. Hux will marry this daughter in five weeks and three days, standard time, and receive her substantial dowry. He had managed to keep that piece of information from Ren, at least.

The second complication: Everything else that he’s managed to give up to Ren.

Hux isn’t well-versed in Ren’s superstitions, but he very much doubts that Ren’s “first night” act was anything more than affectation.  _ Snoke _ certainly never behaved like that. However, Hux knows how far Ren can go with his whims. No doubt he had meant what he said about Norra, that he would have one of them. Hux knows very little about familial duties, but it seems obvious that one should protect one’s future wife from ravishment. It had been easy enough to offer himself up in her place.

He had been prepared for physical cruelty. What he had gotten was worse. 

Hux prides himself--or, rather, had prided himself--on his lack of desire. That’s not to say he hasn’t had liaisons, but they have been tactical and brief. He has certain, rather impersonal tricks and he knows he’s very good at them. No one has ever come away unsatisfied from an encounter with him. 

And why shouldn’t they be satisfied? He has a face made for medals, and he’s the picture of trim perfection in his uniform. 

What’s underneath is a different story. He prefers not to think about it, and doesn’t often have to. He enjoys, and is best at, activities that he can perform with his clothes on. 

But Ren had managed to undo him completely. Ren had stripped him of his authority, had him shaking with lust with words alone. He’d literally stripped him, had him standing naked before him, mouth all over his body. No one has seen or touched him like that since--since ever. Kylo has seen all of him now. Hux can’t get the images out of his head. 

_ He praised you. He liked what he saw. You know he has odd tastes, perhaps he thinks you attractive. _

Hux is uncertain about these conclusions, tempting as they may be. What he is sure of is that he left the locket in Kylo’s possession. He wants it back. Norra is an old-fashioned girl, or so her father says, and no doubt she’ll want to see it when they first meet in the flesh. How can he excuse losing it? He would do anything to have it back. 

Can’t wait to do anything for it, really. Which is why he’s here now. Better to debase himself in private, if it prevents him from doing so in public.

_ Absolutely ruined. _

Hux stretches himself along the length of the blanket, pretending that it’s softer, silkier than it is. He opens the jar of shaving rub, warms a dollop of the stuff it between his hands. He usually just does this in the shower, for efficiency’s sake. 

He unfolds the handkerchief, making sure to only touch the edges so as not to lose the scent. Hux drapes it across his face. It smells of Kylo, of his perspiration and discharge. It’s disgusting to admit, but he rather misses the taste of the man. Having him in his garters like that. It had been nice, to serve a man without sweating through his uniform.

The thought of that starts him off. He closes his eyes. It’s night, and it’s dark--real dark, not just dimmed lights, with stars illuminating the room. He is lying in his wedding gown, awaiting the arrival of his lord.

Hux assumes that Kylo meant at least half of that bride talk as a joke, but the idea stuck in his head, inevitably caught up with  _ arousal  _ and  _ desire _ and a host of other inefficient feelings. He’s gone so far as to look up a few pictures of fashionable bridal dresses--if  _ somehow  _ he’s caught at it, he can always play it off as done on Norra’s behalf. 

He thinks he’d look ludicrous in one of these cloth concoctions, which doesn’t stop him from fantasizing about the sensation of the fabric against his skin. He imagines the dress cut tight around the upper body, like his uniform, and loose at the bottom, huge airy layers of... something... flowing around his legs. (He has no idea how they make the skirts so huge, like bells.) The important thing is that one can push the layers of the skirt up to reveal what’s underneath. 

He’s impatient, can’t wait for Kylo to arrive. He fumbles at his fly--his hands are already greasy, he hasn’t quite thought out the order of this correctly. In the fantasy, it’s better, he pulls up his skirts to expose himself, the fabric crumpling in his hands. Underneath, he’s wearing nothing but a pair of lacy panties.

Kylo suddenly appears, looming over the boudoir. “Look at your long legs. Your pretty legs. And look what’s waiting for me where they meet.” Kylo kisses his cock, the pressure of his lips rubbing the lace against his head. 

This part is almost real. He’d taken the risk of obtaining some underthings, things that he imagines a bride would wear. Most of them are for Norra, or so he’ll say if he’s ever linked to the purchase record. The skimpiest one he’s kept for himself. He’s wearing it now, can see the fluff of his hair peeking above the top of the flowery pattern. It feels just as good as Kylo had made it sound, to be honest.

_ Pretty one.  _ Dream-Kylo mouths him through the lace, his tongue trailing down over his sack, down to the area where Kylo had touched him. 

Real Armitage slows his stroke, reaching over toward the side of the blanket, where he’s left the last possession. It’s the disposable half of a sonic tooth cleaner. He dips it in the shaving rub, making sure that he doesn’t touch the rub itself, contaminate it with his dirty, smelly hands. Then he distributes the rub up and down the shaft, pushes the elastic of the panties aside and pauses.

Before his encounter with Kylo, he’d never even touched there himself. It’s bad enough to self-stimulate, but everyone does it, especially when they’re young. However, you aren’t supposed to engage with certain parts of the body. It’s emasculating, and it’s physically dangerous.  _ And it had felt so good. _

He’s not young anymore, he’s about to be a married man, and here he is, about to fuck himself into corruption. 

Slowly, he inserts the cleaner, a bit at a time. In his imagination, it’s Kylo moving inside him, his hands running over Hux’s legs, his ass. Hux has always admired Kylo’s hands, and now, for once, he’s doing something useful with them.  _ Pretty one, you’re mine, you’re so good for me, so sweet. There, there, now you’re really mine.  _ Kylo strokes back and forth inside him.  _ You’re really my bride. _

Oh, it does feel good, doing this, it’s not anything like as the real thing must be, but the sensation of it is wonderful.

The one thing that isn’t perfect is that he can’t visualize Kylo’s face. It’s odd, as is Kylo is easily the most emotional person he’s ever met. What is he doing? Smiling? Laughing? Hux had hardly looked at him when this was real, when he had had the chance. He’ll think of him--oh--it’s hardly worth it to think of it at this point, concentrate, Armitage,  _ concentrate-- _

Hux lies panting, as loud as he can, because he can. He slowly removes the handkerchief from his face. No doubt it’s no good for a second-go round, it’ll smell like his own breath now. 

He uses the handkerchief to wipe up, instead. He should be clear-minded, perhaps ashamed, tired, suffering a headache, but at least aware.

Instead, the fantasy keeps going. Kylo is cleaning up for him.  _ You’re dirty, darling. Let me make you pristine again.  _ Kylo leans down and touches his tongue to--

An alarm chirrups somewhere, finally breaking the spell. It’s his own chronometer, Hux realizes--he’s set it for his next meeting, as is his habit, loud enough to break his concentration on whatever personal task he’s engrossed in during his meager free time. Usually that’s an engineering sideline or perhaps, if he’s feeling very indulgent, a light nap. Nothing that leaves him like this, abased and--he scrambles between his legs, suddenly afraid that he’s about to make a medical legend out of himself. It’s not as bad as all that, but he doesn’t have time to change, even to wash, he’ll have to wear his gloves. Not like he wouldn’t, anyway, but perhaps Kylo can sense what’s underneath?

Hux feels a rush of irritation toward the man as he slips back into his tunic. The feeling is familiar and reassuring.  _ Look what you’ve done to me.  _

_ My possessions. My dignity.  _

_ Give me back what’s mine.  _


	3. Chapter 3

It turns out to be easy to find Hux’s fiancee, even though Kylo knows nothing about her except her first name and her looks. All he does is search for everyone with the first name “Norra.” It would take forever anywhere else, but here in the First Order, only officers have real names.

None of the female officers with that name are the right age or appearance to be Hux’s Norra, but a “Norra” comes up as  _ attached _ to one of the officer profiles. When he selects the attachment, an ID image comes up that’s obviously a slightly younger version of the girl in the holoportrait.

N.O. Perisingo-Yaxx, R-7-3636,  _ Sagitta _

The  _ Sagitta _ is still flying. He’ll visit it, fly out by himself when he’s supposed to be meditating and left undisturbed. He doesn’t need guards, doesn’t like having them around tracking his movements. He’s powerful enough to move alone.

The  _ Sagitta _ turns out to be a bucket, and the smells of machine oil and rust bring back half-welcome memories. There’s hardly anyone on it to shrink from Kylo’s presence. They might not even know who he is here, although he’s broadcast his bare face to every ship in the fleet.

When he gets to R-7-3636, a gaunt man in a First Order uniform answers the door. 

“I’m here to see--” Kylo has no idea how to address a civilian, a woman without a rank but with a family name. “Norra. Norra Perisingo-Yaxx.”

The man’s eyes widen. He has big blue pupils, like Norra. This must be Raydus, the father.

“I’m sorry, sir. My daughter doesn’t reside here.”

“Where is she?”

“On Telassis. If I had known--” The man snaps a salute. “Forgive me, Supreme Leader. Lieutenant Raydus Perisingo-Yaxx, at your service.”

Raydus is old, like his ship. Old enough to have served in the Imperial army, perhaps even before that, in the Old Republic. Possibly he served under the Emperor. Kylo wonders how the man would take it if he knew that he’s absolutely ruled by the grandson of the great Vader. 

Maybe he’d be all right with it. Raydus seems slightly different from the typical First Order officer. Maybe it’s his accent, which is less harsh than usual, or maybe it’s that Kylo can easily read his feelings and they’re  _ calm _ . He isn’t quivering with fear and loathing, or, alternatively, shouting, ready to show Supreme Leader the strength of his rigor and fury. Instead, he seems welcoming, in a proud sort of way--nothing can rattle him, not even the Supreme Leader on his doorstep. He smiles, and it appears to be genuine, quirking up the corners of his eyes. 

His mother would have called Raydus  _ genteel _ . It wasn’t meant as a compliment, although she acted the same way half the time.

“Since you’re here--” the smile widens a bit further--“would you like a drink?”

Nobody asks the Supreme Leader for a drink. Nobody until today, that is. 

“I’ll concur to it.” Hopefully that sounds like something a Supreme Leader might say, on his own, when agreeing to a drink with a random officer, which is what Raydus Perisingo-Yaxx is, anyway. He should remember that.

Raydus leads him inside. “I’m happy to see you grace my quarters with your presence, although I’m sure I’m a poor substitute for my daughter.”

Kylo nods. Raydus’s quarters are crowded, full of knickknacks and relics that he’s presumably picked up through a lifetime of service. The centerpiece is a long, thin block set against one wall, covered by a piece of cloth. 

Raydus reaches behind a purple glass sculpture to bring out a bottle of Taborian brandy and a set of cups carved out of the horns of some huge beast. Kylo watches Raydus’s liver-spotted hands as he pours the drinks. They look so frail, but Raydus’s movements are graceful, as if he' with an old and trusted friend, not the lord and master of the galaxy’s greatest fighting force. 

“May I presume to ask the reason why you’d like to see Norra, Supreme Leader?” The words are grovelling, but the tone isn’t. It’s as if he’s been expecting Kylo Ren this whole time. Perhaps Hux has warned him.

“I’ve had a report from one of my officers. That she’s engaged to be married.” He really hasn’t thought this through. He’s probably making an idiot of himself. He should be mad, but he’s the Supreme Leader now and he doesn’t have to be angry right away anymore. Besides, the brandy tastes good. 

“Ah. So Armitage Hux has announced the good news.” 

Kylo realizes that this will get back to Hux, one way or the other. Another thing he hasn’t thought of. He’d be genuinely irritated now, except that he’s just gulped down the whole horn of brandy like it was citra juice.

“Another cup?” Raydus pours again. Kylo hasn’t had brandy before, and it’s better than he thought it would be. “I wouldn’t have thought he could keep it a secret very long. I thought that he’d be prouder of it. I’m a little insulted, to be honest with you. My girl is a prize.” Raydus lowers his voice. “I know you and he have had your differences. Two young men, it’s only natural--but if you’ve come here because you have any sort of derogatory information on him, I’ll retract the offer at once--”

This is the part where he should make something up, but he hesitates. Kylo tells the truth, as far as he knows it. “No. I don’t have any quarrel with him right now. I--he showed us her picture. I wanted to see her, myself.” 

The old man’s face lights up. “So you looked us up? She’s beautiful, isn’t she. I have a portrait of her, myself. Do you want to see?” He pulls the sheet away from the long block, revealing a painted canvas. 

Kylo knows nothing about this sort of art. He liked drawing with a koobi stick as a young child, but during training, they told him it was impossible to recreate the perfect realities of the Force, so he stopped. He practiced calligraphy instead.

He decides that the painting is beautiful. The painter has captured light and darkness and dimension using just pigment. Norra looks more real than in her holoportrait, perhaps because she’s doing something--holding a brush. Her eyes have been painted with a glint of life, and it’s almost as if she’s looking back at him. 

Raydus leans in. “I’ll tell you a secret. She painted it herself. Isn’t that something? There isn’t much for a girl to do, here on these ships, so she works on it when she visits me.”

Norra shifts in his mind from Norra-bride-of-Hux to Norra, a person. He wants to meet her now, see how she creates her paintings. “Does she visit you often?”

“No. That’s half the reason I agreed to this marriage--I’d like to have her by my side. I’m getting older,” he sighs.

“I understand,” Kylo says. He just turned thirty standard.

“Oh, no, you don’t. You’re young yet,” Raydus laughs. “Most of my days are behind me, I’m afraid. It doesn’t stop me from wanting to shape the future, as best I can.”

“Your daughter’s future? Does she have any say about it?” It’s almost as if they’re discussing a low-level droid, not a human. 

“She’ll be happy. She was raised a certain way--she expects to be a wife, a mother. Tend her man’s quarters, not captain her own ship. The Telassian upbringing, you know.”

Kylo doesn’t.

He tries a different tack. “Has she met Hux?”

“Not in person, no.”

“How do you know they’ll get along?” He doesn’t know these people’s culture. That’s probably not even important. He’s revealing his ignorance.

“Young people tend to choose poorly for themselves. I can’t help but think of stories from the old days. My own youth. Yes, it happened, I was young once.” Raydus sips at his brandy, suddenly pensive. “I remember Padme Amidala. Intelligent woman, despite her politics. She died so young. There were rumors about it, that she had eloped with a wicked man, that her husband beat her to death. Who knows?” 

Does  _ he _ know, somehow? Who Kylo is? Was? Kylo tries to read his feelings, very gently, but all he gets is the same unbothered sureness. 

“Ah, but you don’t want to hear about these old things. You’re the future, not the past.”

“Why Hux?” It sounds like he’s whining.  _ Why not me, Mr. Officer? _

“Why not? He’s the Order’s up and coming man.” Kylo detects a hint of anxiety, which is reassuring--the man isn’t made of stone--but then Raydus’s smile appears again. “Bar yourself.” 

Well, Raydus did try to salvage that, at least.  _ Diplomatic. My mother would have  _ hated  _ him _ , Kylo thinks.

“I’m sure you’ll see her soon enough, when she arrives for the wedding. I can introduce you, if you’d like.”

It’s both amusing and disturbing that Norra can’t introduce herself.

“I’d like to see her paint.” He decides it on the spot. “If she’s working on something, I want to attend.”

“Well, Supreme Leader, I’ll make sure to pass along your request. I can’t guarantee inspiration will strike, especially as we’ll be preparing for the wedding.”

Kylo lifts a hand in the air, slowly curls his fingers into the palm of his hand. Done by anyone else, it would look like a normal gesture, like catching a fly.

Raydus understands. “But I’m sure I can convince her to do something.”

Slight threats aside, Kylo likes the man. He’s like a relic of long ago, of a more heroic time. He thinks of him later, when he’s once again at his councils of war, and he’s surrounded by much more boring people.

He’s starting to comprehend what’s going on at these meetings--who these people are, what they’re talking about. He even can connect some of their names to their faces. 

It’s odd. He thought that without a master or a bond, he would finally achieve perfect purpose, but instead, it’s more like wiping the vapor away from a cloudshield. Smaller things come into focus. He wouldn’t have noticed the textures of Norra’s painting before, or the sour taste of his caff.  

He wouldn’t have known what Hux’s tongue felt like against his cock, either. Hux had merely existed on the periphery of his hatred, and now he’s something else entirely. Kylo still isn’t sure if he likes Hux, but, for now, he likes the fact that he exists.

Right now Hux is at his side, again. Kylo makes it a point not to look at him, just read his presence. He’s irritated, restless. Perhaps for that reason, he’s even chattier than usual. Suggestions for this and that, outlines for propaganda, tactics for all sorts of battles. 

The discussion turns to a campaign against an industrial planet. It’s almost interesting. Kylo knows something about formations. He’s a great pilot, a natural, as everyone had expected of him. He might have been a decent tactician by now, but Snoke had trained him to other purposes.

Hux is rattling on. “Based on previous lessons learned, we’ll use a spear formation to attack the foundries--”

Kylo almost apologizes for interrupting. Dumb. “We still have a vast resource advantage over any remaining opposition. We can use that to our advantage with a swarm effect. Kuatta makes laser cannons, they’ll know how to target an attack from just one direction.”

The atmosphere of the room changes, as the other officers suddenly perk up--interest, curiosity, perhaps even respect?

Hux’s anger cuts through their mass of feelings like a knife.

“With all due respect, Supreme Leader, we need to consider plans with a basic level of tactical sophistication.” The little sleemo has the gall to smirk at him.

Kylo would choke Hux, except that he feels that some of the officers think that he’s right. He might be able to argue his point, get through to them on his own merits. 

That, and he might want to choke Hux later, in private.

At the end of the meeting, the assault plans stay undecided. Hux stays, too, keeping to his chair until everyone else has left the room.

“You know what I’m here for.”

“To get fucked again?”

Hux reddens as if he’s been slapped. “Don’t play with me. You have an item of my personal property. I’d like it returned.”

“What? This little thing?” Kylo takes the locket and dangles it off his fingers, as if it’s a special lure for catching Huxes. 

“It’s important to me. And to her.”

Kylo whips the locket back into his palm. “I don’t think you deserve it. Not after your insubordination about the campaign.”

“That wasn’t insubordination. My tactical instincts are entirely correct. Your plan will lead to mass casualties.” Hux’s voice rises.

“And? My word is law here. The last time you were in this room, may I remind you, your mouth was full of my cock.” 

 

Hux lifts his chin. “That has nothing to do with strategy. But if you intend to degrade me, Supreme Leader, I’ll certainly be willing to offer my services in defense of my soldiers. If I have to trade an sex act for the lives of my men, it’s a small price to pay.” 

If Hux truly cares about his soldiers, Kylo is a Hutt. This is just another opportunity for Hux to pretend to martyr himself. He wouldn’t mind doing it, if it means he gets his property back and he gets his way on his stupid spear scheme. 

That’s not what Kylo wants, though. This sleemo needs to remember what Kylo can do to him.

“Your insubordinate mouth doesn’t deserve to suck my majestic cock.” All right, he probably went too far with that. If he was in Hux’s place, he’d laugh, even if it earned him a Force whipping. Majestic cock, that was probably straight out of _Gangster Mistress of Corellia_.

Hux is taking this absolutely straight, however. He actually was planning on offering a blow job for the locket. He wants something else, though, something he’s not about to bargain for. Something more private. The double frustration of not getting what he says he wants and not saying what he desires is getting to him. He’s tired and--he itches?

Kylo takes a guess. “I was too easy on your pretty little ass last time. You looked as beautiful  as a exquisite little bride, and that fooled me. You need the disobedience fucked out of you.  _ Then _ maybe you’ll earn your locket.”

He doesn’t even need a read, can see Hux’s voice box bob in his skinny neck as he gulps down his surprise and desire. 

The game is on, and once again, he gets to make the rules.

“Lie down. On the table. Take off your boots, first. I don’t want you getting anything dirty.” Like he gives a fuck about getting anything in this stupid room dirty. He just wants to see Hux’s garters again. They’re ridiculous and over the top in their utilitarianism. Like Hux himself.

Hux carefully places his boots under the table, then stretches himself out across the shiny dark surface. He already looks vulnerable in his socks, his toes twitching inside the fabric. 

Kylo admits that he likes seeing the garter straps and hooks peeping out from underneath Hux’s jodhpurs, lying against Hux’s paper skin. He reaches underneath the hem of a jodphur leg, feels his way up to the elastic and snaps it. His reward is a little wail.

“That’s for mouthing off.” Kylo rubs his finger against where the welt is probably already forming on Hux’s skin. “You’ll know better next time. Won’t you? I don’t want to mark up those charming skinny legs.”

Hux doesn’t like hearing his legs called skinny, but he’s liking the rest of this. 

“Do you want to play with my legs a little more?” Hux’s voice is unusually light and breathy, as if he’s trying to imitate seduction. It’s weird--he’s never taken the initiative before. Nobody can like having their garters snapped  _ that  _ much. 

“No. Take off your pants.”

“You don’t like feet?” Hux lifts a foot in the air, toes arched to a point.

What the fuck is this? It’s not unattractive, but Hux is acting like  _ he’s _ in charge of the fantasy now and that has to stop. He isn’t half as good at this as Kylo is.

“I told you what comes next. Take off those jodhpurs. Are you going to fight me on this? I’m your master.”

The seductive act stops. Hux sits up to undo his fly. Kylo should tell him to lie back down, he hasn’t given him permission to move like that, but he’s distracted by a flash of color as Hux methodically disrobes.

_ That’s mauve. Do I even know what mauve is? _ It sounds like a color for something delicate and lacy. Like for what Hux is wearing underneath his tunic.

_ He really wants to play this all the way. He even put on those panties I talked to him about.  _ Kylo thrills with pride.  _ He’s so into it, now. I bet he hadn’t even thought of it before I put the idea into his head. _

Hux’s stare cools his thoughts. 

He’s simultaneously watery-eyed and icy, as if he’s upset but refuses to acknowledge anything other than whatever’s in the far, far distance that he’s staring into. Whatever happens next, he’ll manage to overcome it in a few moments.

Right now, in this one terrible moment, he’s burning with humiliation. 

_ I tried. He found out anyway. _

_ If he laughs, I’ll die of it _ . Or he might get harder. Hux doesn’t know, and he doesn’t want to find out. 

_ What if he  _ tells _ someone? I really might die of it, oh, Norra-- _

Kylo suddenly feels a pang of pity for Hux, of all people. With everything he’s done--both authorized and unauthorized, and Kylo knows a lot and has heard about much more--he genuinely thinks he’s about to end up with his head on a stick because he wore a piece of clothing he thinks is only for a woman. 

It’s bizarre. The whole Order is so puzzling that it’s almost enough to fuck up his game. He refuses to let this happen.

“I don’t like it,” Kylo says.

“You don’t.”

“That color doesn’t go with your pretty  _ russet _ hair.” Hopefully Hux notices that he used the right word. “In the future, I’ll select these items for you. You need to be perfectly dressed for me.”

Kylo expects a burst of verbal gratitude from Hux. Instead, he just gets an exhaled “hmmmm.” The feelings make up for it, though. Relief, desire, a sort of happy egotism that Hux distrusts because he wants to indulge in it so much-- _ I’m beautiful, he says so, I am, I am-- _ and something mean and aggressive running like a thread through it all. It’s Hux, that’s no surprise.

“You know better now, sweetheart. Lie back down for me.” Kylo runs his hand over the bulge in Hux’s panties, feeling react underneath his fingers. The lace does feel kind of cheap and tacky. He might even get Hux a nicer pair. 

“I want to ruin these.” Kylo presses kisses through the mesh. He even nips at a lace flower to try and pull it off, so he can give it to Hux later as a token, but he just snags a tooth. He’s going to be shit at this, compared to Hux.

The panties smell familiar, underneath all the other smells of Hux’s body. Kylo recognizes the paia scent, like Hux’s aftershave.

Kylo rips the panties off with his hands. It would be amazing to tear them off with his teeth, but he’s not going to lose a fucking incisor on these damn rags.

Hux’s ass is now open to his inspection. Kylo likes Hux’s ass, even though there isn’t much of it. Kylo had expected Hux to be spotted under his clothes, but he’s the same pasty hue everywhere except for a few moles on his cheeks. It’s the most human part of him, Kylo thinks.

Kylo pushes apart Hux’s cheeks, runs a finger down. Hux has left himself greasy in the cleft. It isn’t aftershave that has that scent, it’s some sort of lotion, and Hux has been using it as lube. On himself. 

No wonder Hux had been pissed off that whole meeting. He’s actually irritated, from cheap lingerie and an incredibly dumb choice of lube.

“Oh, you’re all red and sticky down here. You’re sore, aren’t you? You were fucking yourself, weren’t you?”

Hux murmurs a yes.

“What did you think of when your skinny fingers were up there?”

“Nothing.” Hux laughs. It’s creaky, like he doesn’t do it a lot, but it’s recognizable.

“Don’t lie to me, I’ll find out.”

“You. I was thinking of you when I had myself. Can’t you tell?”

Kylo should punish him for that, but _had_ _myself_ is such a funny way to say _jacked off_ that he'll let it slide. 

“I have to clean you up. You’re too pretty for me to leave you dirty like this for long.”

What he’s about to do isn’t the absolutely dirtiest, sloppiest thing he can imagine. But it’s probably the dirtiest thing that  _ Hux _ can imagine. 

Kylo puts the tip of his tongue against Hux’s poor, abused asshole, tracing the rim, flicking his tongue inside.

Hux loves it. He bucks under Kylo’s lips, presses into his tongue. Kylo senses Hux half-slipping into his water fantasy, only this time Kylo is with him, somewhere in the waves.

Kylo comes up for air. “This is all my fault.”

Hux pushes himself up on his elbows. “No, no, you’re quite good. Keep going.” 

“I meant you fucking yourself.”  

“Oh.” Hux lies back down.

“You didn’t want to backtalk me. You’re my beautiful little bride. I just didn’t fully satisfy you on that first night. You need a real fucking. I’m readying you to receive me. Give me one of your gloves.”

Hux’s gloves are tailor-made to his thinner hands. The glove rips when Kylo tries to put it on, but he manages to slip a finger into what’s meant to fit Hux’s thumb. It’s not exact, but it’ll work.

Hux gasps when a finger slides inside him. Kylo takes his time, trying to find the spot where Hux will feel it the most. He knows he’s found it when Hux squeals, rocks into his gloved finger.

Fuck it, this is supposed to be dirty. Kylo rams another two fingers in, without any sort of protection. Hux jumps.

“Do you like getting fucked by me?” 

“Yes, yes, of course I do, I just--I think I’m--oh, I think--”

“You think what?”

“I don’t know, Leader, I don’t know--”

He knows, and Kylo knows, too. Hux is still enjoying this, sort of, but it’s draining away by the moment. It’s starting to feel rough, he’s sore, he’s frightened about the amount of cum leaking from his dick. He feels a bit like he needs to piss, and he doesn’t know exactly what’s coming out. Kylo wonders if anyone ever taught Hux human anatomy outside of a shooting simulation. 

Now isn’t the time for a lecture, though. He does want to split open Hux’s ass, but in a figurative way. He doesn’t want to physically hurt him that much, at least not right now. 

Kylo withdraws, snaps Hux’s garter again just for fun. The little garter hook tears through the fabric, and the sock slouches down, exposing Hux’s skinny calf. He wipes his fingers on the  remains of the poor dead sock. There, Hux will have some souvenirs.

“Did I displease you?”

“No.”

“Don’t think I can’t take it. Whatever you were planning to do.” It’s all injured pride with Hux. He absolutely won’t be thought weak on this one, even though he doesn’t know how Kylo’s massive cock is supposed to fit.

It’s nice that Hux thinks his cock is that big. It’s pretty good, by human standards. “I was planning to stroke you til you came all over your sweet little belly. Do you want that?”

He does, to the point where he doesn’t notice that he’s not coming all over his sweet little belly, but on his tunic.  _ He’ll have to wear that out. I made him mark himself, he can’t pretend this never happened. _

It’s less pleasing than Kylo thought it would be. He was wrong about not wanting to get anything in the room dirty. He liked Hux’s cleanliness last time, watching him magically turn into a proper officer minutes after coming, and now he’s broken the perfectness of that transformation. In practical terms, it also means that people might find out what they’re doing together.

“Oh, I’m filthy. Look at this. I can’t go out in this.” Hux strokes Kylo’s fingers, and Kylo wonders for a moment whether Hux is about to take his hand, if something affectionate is about to happen. 

“And look how dirty you are, too. I’ll be cleaner next time. I can prepare.” Inspection. Of course.

“And you can’t leave with this, either.” Hux runs a hand over Kylo’s hardon. “I have to take care of you.”

Kylo expects Hux to get down on his knees. Instead, he pulls up his jodhpurs, picks up his boots. He walks over to the wall, pushes his hand against one of the narrow panels, as if he’s searching for a number pad. His fingers flick at something, and the whole panel swings inward.  _ A secret passageway. _

“Did you truthfully think I’d leave myself in here without an escape route?” Hux smiles back at him. He looks odd when he smiles, although perhaps that’s just because he doesn’t do it often. Ever. Kylo doesn’t know whether he likes seeing it or not.

“Come with me. If you like.”

Going into an narrow, enclosed space with Hux is an insane idea, even if he has a physical advantage over Hux, even if Hux isn’t tired and fucked out. 

Then again, this whole thing is insane. Also, he feels like Hux hasn’t fully earned back the locket yet. If he ever will.

Kylo watches Hux’s pale hand beckon from the darkness, and steps over the threshold.


	4. Chapter 4

Armitage Hux allows himself a little smile as he strides down the decrepit hallways of the _Sagitta_ , troopers at his side. He’s had a pleasant day, if a long one--preparing to make battle upon Kuatta is heavy work. And now he’s on the way to meet his bride-to-be in the flesh for the first time. He’s running more than slightly late, but he’s sure she’ll understand that conquest comes first. He’ll conquer her, Kuatta, have her dowry, have the shipyards and--after that?

For once, he’ll permit himself not to plan, just to savor the moment. After all, he’s a man in love. With his future wife, of course. But he has something else in his life as well--romance is perhaps too extravagant a term. Certainly he’s experienced more physical pleasure than he has in the past. A series of liaisons would be the best way to describe it.

He’s growing accustomed to Kylo Ren. Before this started, Hux had had vague tastes, but he had never fixated on the appearance of any one individual. He had preferred to concentrate on perfecting his own bearing before his men. Now he catches himself examining Kylo’s face when he has the opportunity. He finds Kylo’s appearance pleasing--the moles, the sharp angles of the nose and chin, the scar. He’s openly imperfect in a way that Hux is not, which is comforting.

Perhaps it goes further than that; perhaps he’s becoming possessive.

Certainly he’s being practical. As long as Ren can dominate Hux in the bedroom, Hux can dominate Ren in the meeting room. His sudden interest in tactics entirely disappeared after Hux led him through that escape door. Hidden doors are standard in most large rooms, and even the freshest officer would be able to spot the signs of where that particular door hung. But Ren had been utterly fascinated. He said that walking through the hidden corridors was like walking through the veins of the ship.

He remembers the exact words because they had been so florid. There’s a technical term for that sort of thinking, putting human thoughts and structure to the workings of a machine, it’s some fallacy or other. Hux would have told Kylo exactly how his thinking was wrong, except he couldn’t because he had Kylo’s cock in his mouth at the time.

They’ve used those corridors exactly four times since then, and at the preceding meetings Ren has been nothing but pliant. He’d be utterly disgusted at his own shamelessness if it hadn’t all played out so very well for him in his public life.

Hux offers Lieutenant Perisingo-Yaxx a brusque greeting as he enters his quarters. He dislikes the man on a personal level, both for his lofty, Old Imperial attitude and his age, although he can’t fault the man simply for still being alive. Perisingo-Yaxx had always been a drifter, in and out of the Order with money and various schemes--a contemporary of Hux senior, although it’s unpleasant to think about that.

Hux does, in theory, very much like the man’s daughter. He _knows_ that he very much likes the man’s credits.

Perisingo-Yaxx gives his usual unctuous greeting, but adds a sting. “You’re late, General.”

“Battle waits for no man. A concept I hope you appreciate, Lieutenant.” He doubts the man has ever been in the field.

It doesn’t land quite as harshly as he hoped it would. The decrepit lieutenant merely smiles and nods and lets him into his overstuffed quarters.

Hux’s stomach lurches. Here is the woman he’s meant to spend the rest of his life with, in the flesh--and by her side is Kylo Ren.

_What is he doing here?_

_He’s breaking the engagement off_ , Hux thinks for a wild moment. _He’ll have me instead. I’m for him._ But no, it’s impossible, it’s silly to want it for multiple reasons, financial and otherwise.

But if not that, then--why _is_ Kylo here?

Hux has a moment to observe the participants. Ren is gazing at Norra with pure concentration. Norra’s back is turned to him, and she’s doing something with her hands--painting, Hux realizes. How odd. He’s never pictured her doing anything at all, really.

Ren reaches out and brushes Norra’s arm. It could be interpreted as a mere notification of someone else’s presence, or as an intimacy.

Hux catches himself on one of Perisingo-Yaxx’s ornate shelves, sending some wooden knickknack tumbling. The tableau breaks up as Hux tries to restore this ridiculous cultural loot to its rightful place.

“Oh, my goodness.” Norra breaks the silence first. She has a soft voice, rather low, not like Hux had imagined it. “I didn’t expect you to be here. I mean, I expected you earlier--I thought you weren’t coming.”

Ren turns around, unruffled. “I’m glad you’re finally here. You shouldn’t be late to meet your own bride.” He says this very seriously, as if he’s dispensing mystic lore instead of the most banal advice. It’s worse because Hux has to admit, if only to himself, that he deserves the chiding. Yes, one shouldn’t be late to meeting one’s own wife-to-be. _How obvious, Ren. You’re an emotional genius._

“And why are you here in the first place?”

“I was interested in Norra’s painting and requested a demonstration.”

 _Not for me, then, not for me._ Desire ebbs, and suspicion rises in its place. _He’s been here before me._

“How did you know that Miss Perisingo-Yaxx paints?”

“I met with Lieutenant Perisingo-Yaxx after you spoke of your engagement, and I viewed his daughter’s art then.” Ren is completely straight-faced. Perhaps he’s telling the truth, or perhaps he’s trying to bend Hux’s mind. “You know that I oversee all my senior officers’ personal affairs.”

Oh, that’s too much. “I’m well aware of that, Supreme Leader.” With an effort, he turns toward Norra. He feels as if he’s lost her, somehow--he was going to address her, had an entire speech planned out, and it’s vanished out of his mind because of Ren. Ren, who’s been in on his territory, who’s spied on his bride.

“What are you painting?” It’s all he can think of to say. She’s been at that canvas, all through their spat. _Dedicated girl._

“It’s a gold-plated gillaflower. Just something my father had laying around. I’d much rather paint the real thing, but it’s not like they grow in abundance here on the _Sagitta_.”

“Oh.” It’s very shiny. Also presumably very expensive, despite being something that Raydus Perisingo-Yaxx has left “just lying around” in his jumble of a quarters. Hux wonders if it will be part of Norra’s dowry.

“Look at the way the light reflects off the petals.” Ren is apparently enthused enough to pretend to be an art expert.

Hux is uninterested in the visual reproduction of a sculpture that’s already in questionable taste. Instead, he focuses on Norra’s body. She’s shorter than he thought, round-shouldered, pinkish. She’s wearing the things he sometimes imagines himself in while he’s with Ren--a tight bodice, sleeves cut to fall off her shoulders, a skirt almost architectural in its sweep off her hips. The difference is that she’s painting in them, moving carelessly, as if she’s used to wearing such things all the time. Which, Hux reminds himself, she must do. They must be as ordinary to her as scut rags are to the men who work the TIEs.

He feels rather ill, as if Ren has tricked him into falling in love with something ordinary and base. She’d laugh if she knew that he wants to wear _that_ , that he adores himself as a common little slattern.

Ren stands, moves to Norra’s side, looks over her shoulder. _How dare he. How dare he act as if I’m not here._

“Look at that detail. Where do you get the paints from?”

Norra launches into an explanation of the various oils and gels and plants and creatures that go into making the pigments. It bores Hux, but Ren manages to nod along.

“It’s amazing that you can recreate images using only that. Were you born with the ability?” Ren is now looking at Norra with nothing but the purest, gooey-eyed admiration. It’s nauseating.

“Everyone is born with different talents, but it takes practice and training. I’m actually not that good, I just went to a girls’ academy, and I liked painting better than dance or embroidery.”

“You went to school to learn to sew?” Ren laughs. “It’s not that hard. Do the boys have a separate sewing school?”

Hux readies himself to defend Norra’s honor, or at least her course of studies, inane as they may have been. But she answers for herself. “No. They grow up to be soldiers.”

“Don’t they teach you to fight at all?”

Hux steps between them. This is intolerable--he can’t think of a thing to say except _Shut up. You should be looking at me_ and he doesn’t even know which one of them to say it to.

“I don’t think this is appropriate. I’ve come here for a private conversation with my wife-to-be.”

Ren purses his lips. Hux realizes that Norra knows nothing of their relations and that to her, he is speaking to a superior _well_ out of turn. Ren must realize this too. Perhaps Ren encourages the thought, perhaps it’s the treachery of his own mind, but he suddenly has a vivid image of himself spreadeagled on the floor, coat flipped up over his back, Ren’s fingers buried in him up to the hilt. _Look at what your husband is, Norra. Nothing pleases him more than being well fucked. Is this a man?_

The impossible happens. Ren gives way.

“I didn’t realize this was inappropriate. I’m sorry, I won’t trouble you again.”

Norra protests politely, but Ren has already mumbled his farewells. He disappears into the hall, where Hux can hear Raydus whining about something, but the door creaks open and shut and they’re finally, blessedly, alone.

Hux very slowly disengages himself from parade rest, arranges himself on Perisingo-Yaxx’s ugly, overstuffed sofa. That had been--well, it had been disorienting. Stupid, quite possibly. He doesn’t quite know his place. _He could have done worse to you, you know. Given you a good smack against that wall._

Norra is offering him a cup of tea and an apology.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend.”

He must look quite a picture--red in the face, fists clenched so no one will see his hands tremble. Not something that appeals to women? “It’s not your fault. He was out of line. I don’t let anyone insult my family.”

Where did _that_ come from? Hux has had precisely one family member in his entire life and he had him killed. He stifles a nervous giggle.

Norra has sat down beside him. He examines her expression to see if she’s reacted at all to any of this, if she’s repulsed or admiring, but she appears to be very much the same as when Hux first entered. Unaffected. That’s probably a good trait in a wife.

He reaches round his neck, pulls out his locket. “Thank you for your portrait.” After all he’s done for it, he wants to show it off to her, that he’s been wearing it. He’s even had it washed--the last time he was with Kylo, the man had hung it round his cock.

“I brought you something.” He fumbles for the little box he brought, opens it up.

“Oh, what a lovely old ring.” Norra traces the vine engraving on the surface. “Is it from your family? An heirloom?”

“No. I have nothing of my own.” It sounds too accurate at the moment. His eyes prickle. “My father and I were refugees from Arkanis. He refused to surrender his academy to traitors. We were left with nothing.”

“I’m so sorry.” Norra lowers her eyes, looks at her hands. Hux assumes that Raydus Perisingo-Yaxx provided his daughter with a comfortable childhood. Perhaps she feels guilty for it.

“Let me put it on.” She has small hands, and the ring falls off every finger. He ends up having to put it on her thumb. Hux watches as she curls it under her fingers, making a little fist.

“I should have had your hands measured.”

“Never mind, it’s easy to resize.” She smiles. “I brought something for you, too. I hope you don’t think it’s silly of me.”

There’s nothing to say to that--he won’t know until he sees it.

It’s a little portrait of him, set inside a silver frame. He has a proud, stern expression, very well-composed overall. Martial. His cheekbones look like they could cut durasteel.

_This must be how she sees me._

For the first time, Hux feels something about Norra. Not about the concept of a proper family, or about the money she represents, but simple pride. He’s managed to impress this woman.

He leans in, aiming to kiss her forehead, the space right between her pale brows. Norra swerves at the last moment, so he brushes somewhere on her left eyelid. Perhaps she’s shy.

It’s strangely intimate, that he can put his lips to her face. Kylo would never do something like that to him, and he would certainly never try the same with Kylo.

“I’m quite happy you’re to be my wife.” It’s not a lie.

He takes his leave of her, with a promise to return soon, to have dinner with the dreaded Raydus. It’s to be the real introduction, he understands, a proper chance to know each other. Norra looks after him as he leaves. She has grey eyes.

 _My grey-eyed wife. She painted a picture of me._ It’s all quite odd.

He’s attempting to commit Norra’s features to memory when he’s interrupted in the hangar by a very real Kylo.

“Still here?”

“I was waiting for you.” Kylo butts in front of his bodyguards, matches his quickening stride. Hux expects a check, but Kylo doesn’t touch him, just walks after him into the shuttle.

The bodyguards attempt to follow.

“You. Outside.” The troopers turn straight back around, as if they’re puppets and Ren is pulling their strings. It always unsettles Hux to watch this, although he knows that he doesn’t have as weak a mind as a trooper.

“You thought to disobey me. Don’t you know how much you like me? You play at being mine all the time.” He looks genuinely hurt.

“It’s not that. I have things of my own as well. Stop sniffing after them.”

Kylo misses the insult completely. “Your fiancee is a thing?”

“A bride is her husband’s property.” It’s not technically true, but he’s daring something of Kylo.

“And you want to be mine. I get it.”

Kylo is on him, then. He’s more aggressive than usual, and loud. Hux doesn’t like that, that someone might be able to track what they’re doing.

“My guards are here,” he whispers.

“I told them to stay outside. Anyway, I thought they were conditioned to obey.”

“They might gossip.” Kylo’s hand feels lovely against his cock, as always. “I’ll--I’ll have them eliminated. Right now, if you want.” He’d rather like to show Kylo that he’s still a force to be reckoned with. “I designed a flaw in their armor, if I put my fingers to it just so I--oh!”

Kylo reaches back, his fingers slick.

“I’ll wipe their minds. Or you can do it yourself. We both have our methods.”

“Mmmmh.” A horrid thought crosses Hux’s mind.

“That’s not paint, is it?”

“No, it’s not paint.” Kylo snorts. “Were you thinking about that? Getting fucked with a tube of aquamarine?”

Hux can honestly say that he hadn’t been at the time.

“You did want me right there and then, though.”

“Of course I did! You know that.” Damn mindreader. “You’re the one who has lubricant on your person. Don’t shame me as if I’m some sort of nymphomaniac.”

Kylo has him bent over the console. If someone comes along right now, they could see him through the windows.

“What’s that word mean?”

Hux doesn’t know the precise meaning. His father had used it about certain women. “A slut.”

“You think you’re a slut? You’re basically a virgin. You haven’t even taken cock yet.”

It’s true. Kylo has taken him with his fingers, is doing so right now, actually, but he hasn’t gone any further than that. Hux is curious, but he hasn’t asked. Perhaps Kylo doesn’t think he can take it.

“Do it, then. Go ahead and deflower me.”

“Are you sure? I’m a monster. You won’t sit for days.”

“I’ve had enough of your boasting.”

Hux expects Kylo to tease him a bit further, but instead Kylo pushes straight in.

This is what it feels like, then. He feels dazed, wide open. He’d expected it to hurt more, but he’s always been quite sturdy, in his way.

“Look how wet you are already. Right here. Your soft little dick.”

“I know. I know.” Sometimes it happens if something’s far inside him. Fingers, now this. And he absolutely drips when he’s fucked, anyway, perhaps one isn’t supposed to, not this much. At least it’s not from his bladder--he knows that now, although he was scared it was happening that first time.

“That’s not how people work.” Kylo had explained it to him, as if he was a child. “At least not humans. It’s natural.”

“You’ve touched other things? Not _human_?”

Kylo had turned away, shrugged. “No. You know. I’m not ignorant.”

Hux doesn’t know and he doesn’t want to find out. He doesn’t like to think of himself compared to a xeno. They’re dirty and lowly and they must not be able to experience feelings like this, even if these are the lower sort of feelings anyway. Animals. Not built to carry this sort of sensation. It is wonderful, even though it’s so low, letting anyone do this to him.

He imagines that it really did go the way he thought about, back in Raydus’s quarters. He’s face down on the floor, right in front of Norra, wearing her clothes. He’s utterly submissive, humiliated as Ren pounds into him again and again, gouts of cum puddling under him on the floor. He’ll flood the room with it, ruin Raydus’s fussy rugs and Norra’s shoes and his own uniform. It’s too much, he can’t be dammed up, no matter how much he wishes to stop himself, to be composed and clean and decent.

He’s dizzy with it, as if she actually is there, watching him be ground into. It feels wonderful, actually, he wouldn’t even care if it was real, it’s too good to be finally fully acted upon. _Look, I’m his. Not you._

For some reason--it’s wildly anatomically incorrect--the fantasy shifts so that his arms are round Kylo. He’s scratching Kylo’s broad back, feeling Kylo’s skin break underneath his fingernails. _Do you think you’re up to this, either of you? You’d both be crying if it were done to you. Only I can have this, me, me, me--_

“Do your speech.”

“My what?” It takes a moment to register that there’s a real Kylo, and he’s talking.

“You know, the one where you scream. That one.” Kylo might be laughing, very softly, but he won’t think about it. It probably didn’t happen, he’s just been fucked into hearing things.

“I don’t have breath for it.”

“Come on. Fucked the voice out of you? Stop flattering me, I’m not that big.” Kylo stops moving within him, and the pleasure begins to subside. “Speak, General.”

He begins to rattle it out. Hux has practiced the speech often enough to do it by heart. He tries not to think of the words as he says them, not because he dislikes his creation--he carefully crafted every sentence--but because it seems wrong somehow to connect something as pure as that moment to this. To sex. But he does want to keep fucking, to keep this arousal building inside him, and what harm will it do, anyway, if he keeps it quiet enough, under his breath--

Kylo moves in time with the words, interspersing his strokes with little slaps, as if he’s keeping time. Hux feels his voice settle into a sing-song rhythm, the disorder, the cherished fleet, all of it. Kylo speeds up and so does he, and the words begin to slur together, which won’t do. _Enunciate, Armitage--_

He’s going to come somehow, no need to be touched, even, Kylo is shuddering inside him and he could be saying perfect nonsense and it wouldn’t matter--

The bliss of the moment ends too soon. Something is wailing in his ear, and it’s not Kylo. He’s hit the button for a klaxon.

Hux frantically runs his hands over the console, pressing at random until the sound finally stops. He pulls up his briefs, even though he’s sopping wet. The console is dirty, too; he’s damaged things.

Kylo is roaring with laughter now, as if he’s just heard the most wonderful joke. “Stop that!” Hux hisses. “Someone’s probably heard us. They’ll think it’s an emergency.”

“No, they won’t. No one cares.” Kylo pulls at his hand as he runs to the refreshment facility. Hux escapes, manages to slam the door shut, throw the bolt.

“Come on out.” Kylo still sounds amused. “I’ll have them shot or press wherever in all their armor. Just like you suggested.”

“I’m not hiding.” He really isn’t, mostly, he’s trying to neaten himself up. The facility is rudimentary, just a toilet, and he isn’t going to be able to make a very good job of it. A bit of something slides down his leg. That’s the price of this sort of pleasure, it isn’t neat, you can’t swallow the evidence. Not very dignified. He sits on the toilet, does the best he can with the materials at hand.

Once he’s finished, he attempts to push his hair back in place, with the aid of the tiny mirror on the fresher wall. The gel isn’t holding. He feels rather out of sorts. It can’t all be spurred by some mussed hair, he brought his cap. It isn’t as if anyone is arriving at the scene. Ren is right, no one cares on the _Sagitta_. He should have everyone on this ship scourged in public.

It isn’t until after he’s kicked Ren out of the shuttle and he’s well on his way back that he comes close to understanding what’s happened. He’s stopped fantasizing about the scourging and is gazing out the window, watching Ren’s fighter streak across the sky. It’s a lovely sight.

Kylo usually calls _him_ a lovely sight. _My pretty, my russet sweetheart, my bride._ He hadn’t played at that this time. He, Hux, had been made to do the talking.

 _If he stops speaking that way to me..._ Hux clutches his greatcoat tighter. It’s cold on the shuttle, although he’s still sweating. He’d wipe his brow, but he’s stuck his handkerchief down his briefs, to prevent further fouling of his uniform. He’ll throw it out when he gets back to his rooms.

Kylo would laugh, but it isn’t funny. He’d give that stupid golden flower of Norra’s to have the man back at his side, whispering to him about how sweet he is. Even in public, even if it gave him no advantage at all.

He supposes he’s suffering from infatuation. It’s like hunger, or poison in the blood. Slowly severing one from one’s good sense, weakening one, leaving one exposed to the whims of another.  

Hux reaches into the pocket of his greatcoat for his pad, sits up straight. He’s going to have these troopers reconditioned or failed out anyway, but for some reason it’s important that he looks appropriate when he does this, as if he’s giving a particularly weighty order.

He addresses the message, writes it out.

_Meet in my rooms at change of shift tonight?_

It’s his own private encrypted channel, but it looks innocent enough for deniability if somehow it’s intercepted. His palms are clammy. He needs to start carrying an extra handkerchief or two. Or three.

The reply comes back, surprisingly quick:

_yes_

This is foolishness. This is nonsense. He’s behaving very badly. This truly is like poison.

 

The worst part is-- if there's an antidote, he doesn't want it.


	5. Chapter 5

This is the fifth time that Kylo Ren has visited the quarters of General Armitage Hux.

The first time he’d been invited, Hux had peered at him from the doorway before hurrying him inside. The rooms had been dimmed almost past visibility, as if there was some secret there that Hux was desperate to hide. Hux himself seemed disembodied, his white face floating in the darkness above what turned out to be an elaborate, heavy robe. 

The lack of light had been fun at first. Kylo had wondered what kind of secrets were inside Hux’s quarters, what Hux was hiding from him. A lingerie drawer, full of panties and corsetry and weird ribbon stuff for alien cocks. Bodies, secret weapons. Maybe a pet? He’d heard that Hux had a cat stashed away somewhere, but Kylo doubts it, as there’s never any hair on Hux’s immaculate clothes. Anyone who grew up in a household like his knows that pets shed. His mother had had a special droid just to pluck the fur off her state gowns.

But Hux allows 60 percent now, ever since an unnecessary piece of furniture got in the way of Kylo’s shin. There are no mysteries here anymore, except maybe the mystery of Hux’s taste. All the furniture has bright silver edges, like Hux decided on “big knives” for his decorating theme. Maybe it’s supposed to be imposing, but Kylo is accustoming himself to real comfort in other places. It just looks tacky. 

The centerpiece of Hux’s arrangement is a massive sofa. Kylo has wanted to fuck Hux atop this plush monster ever since he’s been able to see it, but Hux has refused contact anywhere that can’t be wiped down afterwards. He’s finally achieving his goal, five times in, Hux mumbling commands into the sofa’s arm. 

“Up, up, ships to starboard, I mean to port.”

Hux grunts, a little wail tailing off at the end. Kylo sometimes wonders if Hux knows what he’s doing, tactically, even when he’s perfectly clearminded. Which he wouldn’t be right now, stuffed full of Kylo’s cock. 

Hux likes to think that he’s some sort of helpless creature, that he’s merely being acted upon. It was charming at first, to see him fall apart, to see how he reacted when he revealed himself in something he thought deviant. After a few times, though, Kylo’s realized that it’s a little one-sided and not actually that exotic. It’s not like Hux is wearing a Vevelian corset or anything, just panties that he thinks are for human women. Kylo hasn’t had that much actual sex--technically, he’s only fucked Hux--but his sexual imagination is much more sophisticated than Hux’s.

Kylo decides that he wants Hux as he first knew Hux, the shrieking soldier, preening in front of his compliant men. Hux tolerates this, sometimes complies. As he’s doing now.

“Faster. Bring the speed up to five, no--”

“You’re very technical, General. Your troops need encouragement.” Kylo pinches Hux’s flank. “Inspire your men.”

“Ahh. Today, as we stand upon the precipice of a new dawn, the dagger of the forces of the First Order is poised to strike over the foul heart of our enemies, no quarter, no surrender, only termination--”

It’s stupid, but Kylo likes to hear Armitage talk, his accent. It’s probably from when he was a kid, when he’d found an old toy, a figure of an Imperial officer. You could move the figure’s arms and legs, and when you undid its tunic and pushed the buttons on its chest, it barked orders--left, right, something about the glory of the imperial fleet. Kylo had loved its clipped, tinny voice, and that he could make it give orders even though it was shaped like a grown man. Eventually it lost its voice, though--the mechanism broke or he pushed the buttons too hard--and something happened to it. 

“As we push this shining blade, this pure steel through the heart of our enemies, we must remember that--” Hux pauses, and Kylo can feel his annoyance, even through the overwhelming physical sensations of sex. “Must I go on with this? This is nonsense, even you must know that--”

_ Even you? _

He’s almost there, so he’ll ignore that, keep going. “You’re doing good.”

“It isn’t very strong, rhetorically--” 

The  _ r’s  _ put him over the edge.

He praises Hux, calls him his brave little soldier. Hux doesn’t like that, rolls his eyes. 

He  _ does _ like it when Kylo says that he’s been good, looks good, pretty like that. And he likes it when Kylo blows him, sighing and thrusting into Kylo’s mouth. Kylo isn’t as bad at oral as certain people had told him he was, or at least he hasn’t gotten a critique from Hux yet. It’s probably that an ovipositor is less sensitive than a human dick, or maybe Jhedoni was just a liar. It tastes different, too, smells better than Jhedoni did. Maybe he’s catching xeno fears from Hux.

“Did you just  _ swallow _ all that?” Hux whispers once they’re done.

“It’s not a lot.” Hux overestimates how disgusting bodies are, enjoys doing it, too. Kylo suspects that Hux wouldn’t be half as aroused if he didn’t think he was doing something absolutely forbidden and vile every time he did something simple, like coming. Right now he’s lying stretched across the sofa, the pink slowly leaving his cheeks and chest, stretching himself out like the cat Kylo’s never actually seen.

Suddenly Hux jumps up, as if he’s been shocked, and pokes at something on the sofa. “Oh, damn.” He looks as if he’s done something terrible, actually cups a hand over his ass. “You’ve made me stain it.”

“I didn’t make you do anything.” 

“Give me my handkerchief. Or a soakup. Damn it.”

Kylo throws Hux his undershirt, watches as Hux wipes between his legs, dabs at the stupid couch. Like he was going to throw a party for the best of society in here. Who cares.

Hux stalks off, wrecked undershirt pinched between two fingers. Kylo calls after him. 

“You can have it cleaned. Or turn the cushion over.”

No reply. Water rushes through the pipelines overhead--Hux must be washing up. Kylo could leave and go back to his quarters, or he could wait and use Hux’s shower, after Hux is done. Kylo had attempted to join him in the fresher once, but Hux hadn’t liked it. Kylo remembers his reaction, his hair plastered to the sharp bones of his face, dark and surprisingly long out of its gel hold. 

“I’m getting  _ clean _ ,” he’d hissed.

He’s exhausted. He could stay here, sleep on the now  _ incredibly filthy  _ sofa. Or he could sleep in Hux’s bed. 

That’s the real secret of this. They haven’t just been fucking. Sometimes they actually sleep together, for real. They’re tired, and they share a bed. Not for long, just naps. They’re too busy for anything else, or at least Hux says so. 

It--well, it’s interesting. Not sexually--Hux doesn’t like to leave a wet spot on anything in here, in his precious quarters. In other ways.

Once he hears the water stop running, Kylo pushes himself off the floor. It’s time for him to take his own shower. Hux won’t let him into the bed unless he wipes himself down, at least.

After he’s done, he throws himself into the bed, naked, the way he usually sleeps when he’s alone. Hux presses against him, his pajama buttons icy against Kylo’s back, and begins whispering into his ear about superweapons. 

“Do you think about it, ever? How lovely that looked?”

“Not really.” Actually, he’d been scared that he’d be sick after it, because Force sensitives sometimes could feel these sorts of things--the reactions of others, lots of others. Then he’d been disappointed that he hadn’t felt anything at all, worried that his abilities were weak, would always be weak. That was all.

Hux is excited, though. “Did you ever think if we had another Starkiller--or two or three, or more--there would be nothing that would stand in the Order’s way. Extreme domination, on a scale the galaxy has never seen. I’ve been thinking of a plan to synthesize kyber crystal, and then--”

_ Of course _ Hux would wear black pajamas with metal buttons to bed, and  _ of course _ he would attempt to use sex as a way to sway Supreme Leader’s opinion. Some of the shit he says is so ridiculous--infinite Starkillers?--that Kylo thinks he’s probably just doing it to justify letting Kylo into his rooms. 

It can’t last forever. Hux eventually drops off, smacks his lips a few times, falls into sleep, his breath slowing. Meanwhile, Kylo holds himself between waking and dreaming. 

He’s never slept next to another person, or at least next to another person without the ability to shield their mind. Every time Hux falls asleep, he reads Hux’s dreams. 

Technically, this is an invasion of Hux’s privacy, the sort of manipulation of the Force that past teachers have told him to avoid. But it can’t hurt Hux, and besides, it’s only fair, as he listens to Hux’s mad planning.

Armitage never dreams about sex, which is a disappointment. Kylo has been hoping to see himself fuck. Instead, Hux dreams about nature, about water, giving himself over to it. Sitting on a rocky shore, watching the waves roll in, or wading in the shallows. Kylo can sense his relaxation, his happiness that something has driven the monsters away from the deeps. 

Kylo is naturally curious about just what kind of monster was there in the first place. So tonight, he conjures the scariest one he can think of--a gargantuan, scaly beast, with jagged teeth and claws like broken stone. He enjoyed crafting the image, inserting it into Hux’s mind, anticipating Hux’s startled reaction, both in the dream and in life.

But when dream-Hux sees it, he laughs, and paddles out into the water, all pale, gangly limbs. This Hux has longer hair, trailing behind him in the water like a fish’s tail. He throws his arms around the beast as if it was a lover. 

_ Mine, this is  _ my _ monster. We’re together.  _

Something begins thrumming in the monster-Kylo’s heart. Kylo looks up to the dream-sky and sees a thousand suns going dark. Through Hux’s eyes? His? 

He wakes, sweaty and sick-feeling, to something pressing against his mouth, opens his eyes to see Hux turned toward him, lids half-closed, pink lips crooked upward in a smile. 

Hux murmurs something. Kylo doesn’t comprehend it. Maybe it’s  _ dear  _ or  _ darling _ . He does know that afterward, Hux turns over and gone back to sleep, radiating a familiar satisfaction, the kind that used to mean that he was fucking Kylo  _ up _ .

Kylo stays awake, curled up against himself, until his alarm buzzes against his wrist.

He realizes that he’s stopped thinking of himself as a monster. He doesn’t particularly like that Hux thinks he’s one, or that Hux thinks that Kylo is  _ his  _ monster or sea hag or whatever. Dirty, repulsive, but useable. The beast of burden that will help him build another Starkiller. Good luck with that, Hux. 

A voice from his past, the one he least likes to hear, echoes in his mind-- _ Don’t go prying into people’s minds. You might not like what you find. You also might-- _

Kylo shuts that voice away. He’s wrong, was always wrong. 

Besides, Kylo thinks, as he pulls on his clothes, he has somebody else he can see today. Somebody who, blessedly,  _ doesn’t _ care about him.

* * *

 

Kylo Ren has visited the  _ Sagitta _ five times.

All his life, Kylo has been the object of people’s thoughts--what’s wrong with him, how powerful he is, whether he’s going down the right path or toward the wrong side. Norra isn’t really interested in him at all, which is refreshing. When he reads her thoughts--gently, he’s being polite--she’s thinking about design, colors, how best to represent what she sees around her. Not him and whether he’s good or bad or a monster or what.

He visits her under the pretense of her painting his portrait, but he always ends up asking her so many questions that nothing ever gets done. It’s more like a lesson--she points out how her chalks and leads and oils work, and how she uses them to create images. Sometimes he tries drawing himself, or mixes some of the paints for her. She constantly has new materials--mediums, she calls them--coming in, in boxes and bundles with mysterious markings. 

“How can you try it all?” Kylo asks. Norra’s pile has grown higher than ever.

“I might not have access later on, if the fleet moves. I feel like I have to buy things now. What if I want to paint something iridescent one day and I’ve run out of glisterpaint?”

Kylo picks up a random bottle. “This says it’s made from pollen scraped from the legs of the Kovan bee. Are the stingers in there too?”

“Don’t touch that!” It’s so startling that Norra has the capacity to raise her voice that he jumps. The bottle slips through his fingers, and he saves it from the floor with the Force. It hangs there, a little amber bottle full of bee gunk, until Norra very carefully reaches out and retrieves it from the air. 

He feels bad afterwards, offers to teach her to fight in return for all the time he’s taking from her, but she declines. 

“Don’t you want to know how to protect yourself?”

“I only have so much time. I want to concentrate on what’s important to me.”

This impresses him. She’s not like him, or the people he knows, who are obsessed with huge ideas. She has small happinesses. It’s probably wise.

Hux doesn’t know about these meetings, nor does Kylo intend to tell him. Norra doesn’t intend to tell him, either, or Hux wouldn’t still be so friendly. Or maybe Hux does know, and doesn’t care. It’s not like they’re  _ together _ together, anyway. Either him and Hux, or him and Norra. Kylo is Supreme Leader, and he can see who he fucking wants. 

Norra’s father seems to approve, anyway, and he wouldn’t do that if Kylo was transgressing some mysterious boundary. Sometimes they have a drink together, after the “session” is over with Norra. Kylo appreciates that, appreciates the man’s rooms, the way everything seems to have been selected for Raydus’s pleasure and comfort alone, not out of devotion to some cramped tradition or out of a need to impress. Raydus will tell stories about weird places he’s been, xenos he fought, women he loved. He speaks to Kylo as an equal, which shouldn’t be allowed but seems more respectful than grovelling or spouting out titles. 

Today, though, he seems slightly put off about something. Nervous. Kylo wonders if it’s wedding jitters. It could be that fathers of brides have those, just like brides do. They haven’t talked about the wedding at all.

Raydus sinks back into his well-stuffed chair, slings a scuffed Order boot over one knee. “I have something to talk to you about.” He gives a nod that looks significant, although Kylo can’t tell quite of what without using the Force. “Your intentions.”

“My intentions with what.”

Raydus nods again, toward the next room, where Norra is probably still painting behind the closed door.

“With your daughter?” Kylo wonders if he’s done something wrong, sexually, even though he’s hardly even touched Norra’s hand. Maybe Raydus is going to challenge his honor or something like that. 

“Exactly!” Raydus drops his voice. “I can’t stand to think of her married to an  _ incompetent _ .”

“What?” Kylo still thinks he’s talking about sex, and is about to tell him that no, Hux is fine, he has all the human equipment and it works.

“You can’t not know!” Raydus hisses. “Think of Kuatta.”

Oh.  _ Kuatta. _ The conquest hasn’t gone as planned. The casualties have been higher than expected. Technically, they haven’t even taken the place--they have most of the defense yards, but not the planet, where quite a few of the Kuatti are holed up, along with some of their very sophisticated weaponry. When the Order tries to secure the yards, the Kuatti pick off their ships. They can’t simply shoot at the planet because then they’d damage the yards, the possession of which is was the whole point of the operation in the first place.

Hux hasn’t talked about it a lot. Either at meetings, or in bed. 

Raydus goes on and on. He’s been bottling this up for a while. “He’s a poor tactician. All shouting, no sense. Like his father. Did you know his father? No, you wouldn’t, what am I saying.” Raydus waves his hand. “An utterly useless man. When the rest of us were at Endor, he was holed up in one of the academies. Trying to produce the perfect soldiers, or so he said. Abusing the cadets, no doubt. I’m sure the son was bred off of one of those poor auxiliary girls. Did you know that?”

No, he hadn’t. It’s strange to think that Hux had a human mother, although he’s not a clone, so there’s nothing else he  _ can _ be. 

“I’m not saying that I care that he’s a bastard.” Obviously Raydus cares that Hux is a bastard, but for some reason he wants to appear above that. Kylo doesn’t care either way. “But we should have conquered Kuatta by now. Is it wise to support him with my money? With my flesh and  _ blood _ ?”

Kylo realizes that he’s supposed to answer that, that Raydus is waiting for an order. He can fucking read minds and he still doesn’t understand these people. Nobody here can simply tell them what they want out loud. 

“I’m not a father. I can’t speak to what you’re feeling. I feel like I’d be trespassing.” It’s an honest answer. He’d ask whether Norra has an opinion, but he knows better by now than to ask if Norra has any say in anything. 

Raydus beams approval. “You see. It’s a question of honor. And... I want my daughter to be safe. I didn’t bring her up to fight, perhaps that was a mistake.” He cocks his head. They’ve been drinking, and Kylo notices how Raydus’s silver hair shines under the artificial lights. “You’re in her company a great deal. Have you thought about it?”

“About what?”

“Would you like to marry her?”

_ Me? What for?  _

“I have an extended network of loyalties within this organization. Those men were going to be Hux’s and mine. I don’t think he’s worthy of them. They have to go to somebody.”

“Hux serves under me. How would this be any different?”

Raydus raises his eyebrows. For the first time, Kylo senses that the man is genuinely uneasy.

“I confess, Supreme Leader. I made a mistake. I overestimated Hux, and I underestimated you.” 

Raydus reaches over, touches Kylo’s hand. It’s a gesture of trust, he’s not trying to fuck him or fuck him over. It’s been a long time since someone older than him has treated him this way. It’s nice, it’s like he’s a regular person, almost.

“You like my daughter. I know she likes you. Marry her instead. Be happy.”

_ Why don’t you just give me the money and leave Norra out of it?  _ He wouldn’t understand--

Perhaps Raydus is right. Norra isn’t exactly what he wants most--she’s round and soft, while he likes beings with no extra flesh, taut and wiry. But he likes being around her. 

“Hux’ll be upset.”

Would he be? Norra never mentions him visiting her. Kylo had seen them once, together, Hux striding along with one hand held behind his back and the other arm awkwardly offered to Norra. He must have been introducing Norra to what would be her new quarters. Showing her off, more like it. He never talks about her, either.

“Let him be. What is he to you?”

Kylo wonders if somehow he knows. It wouldn’t be surprising--he never keeps his movements particularly secret, and Hux must be watched. 

Kylo shrugs. 

“That’s another reason I’m uncertain about this.” Raydus leans forward. “There are rumors about Hux.”

_ Yeah, he killed his dad.  _ That would probably make someone not want to be a father-in-law. He doesn’t know if Hux actually did it, though. Not like him.

“Blew his way up the ranks. Both ways.” Raydus makes a gesture that makes it very clear what he’s talking about.

Kylo stops himself before he rips the thoughts out of Raydus’s head.  _ He can’t know. Because then he wouldn’t be talking this way. _

“Sad state of affairs, old army men falling for a skinny thing like that.” Kylo can’t tell whether it’s bad because it’s two men, or because there’s an age difference, or whether officers should only be fucking big beefy men, or what. His ears are burning. 

“Anyway, I want grandchildren. So. Have her. If you want her, that is.”

There’s no way to say no to this. Not without insulting Norra. And there’s no reason, really. She’s going to someone. Raydus has made that clear enough.

“Norra!” Raydus bellows, his voice suddenly loud enough to pierce the patched-up roof of the  _ Sagitta _ .

Norra appears, as if her father can conjure her up into being. Stands there, expectantly. Raydus looks on, expecting something as well. Has  _ she  _ been let in on this, too?

There’s something he should say here.

“Your father has been talking to me.”

“About what?”

Norra is her own person. It’s hard to remember that, sometimes. Easier not to. “Would you be happier? Not marrying?” 

“I--”

He cuts her off before she overlooks the possibility she’s supposed to see. “Not married to Hux. Married to me?” 

Norra looks at him, fully looks at him, and he feels something aimed toward him, finally. A sense of change, of a life opening out onto a higher purpose. She’s about to accomplish more than she ever thought she could, with Hux. It’s flattering, and a bit frightening.

He tries to lighten the mood with a joke, with something she’d like. “You could be my imperial painter, too. Unless you don’t want to do portraits and ships, that’s probably boring.”

Norra smiles. He’s managed to fully distract her for once--he catches her thoughts about herself, very clear. Norra is seeing herself sitting by a window, looking out onto a garden. She’s much older, for some reason, and her hands are wrinkled, but there’s pigment caked under her fingernails. It’s calm, and simple, and it will never happen--

The vision disappears in a flash, as if Norra’s slammed a door, hidden herself away. He almost feels like a voyeur.

But it doesn’t seem to matter. Norra nods, smiles, says yes. Puts her hand in his. It’s warm, a bit sweaty. When he pulls away, she leaves a smear of purple pain behind on his fingers.

“Look, it’s like a ring,” he says, and the smile doesn’t leave her face.

So this is how he ends his sixth visit to the  _ Sagitta _ . An engaged man. It feels odd. Grown up. No passionate emotions, but then again, that hasn’t worked so well for him in the past. In anybody’s past, really. Maybe this is wisdom.

There are going to be some other changes, too. Necessary ones. He’s discussed them with Raydus. The man makes other proposals, apart from the one he practically did for his daughter. Things will be run differently now. Smarter, more efficiently. Not that differently. A few officers will be very pleased, but the vast majority of the Order won’t even know the difference, Kylo thinks. They’ll fight and die just as before. 

For Hux, however… Hux will be surprised. 

* * *

 

This is the first time that Armitage Hux has visited the quarters of Kylo Ren, Supreme Leader of the First Order.

Attempted to visit them, at least. The sound of the door buzzer awakens Kylo from his sleep. It’s the middle of the cycle. This shouldn’t be happening--he does have guards at the door. Unless it’s important, they should just kill whoever is--

When he checks the security, Hux appears. The man’s expression burns even through a holo.

_ So he knows _ .

Raydus must have told him. Kylo has avoided this, has told himself it’s probably best to avoid Hux altogether until Hux is given his new position. 

There’s another reason.  _ Blew his way up the ranks. _ The gesture Raydus had made hadn’t just been sexual. Finger and a thumb at right angles--the universal sign for a blaster pistol.  _ He fucks with his betters _ . In any way possible. If Raydus knew, he’d think--well, he’d think he’d fallen for something. That he was tricked. 

Still, he probably should see this out. Now that it’s out in the open.

Kylo walks slowly to the doorway, enters the code to let Hux in.

Hux looks worse in the flesh. Pale, flustered, rather sickly looking. He’s always been sickly looking, really, never bloomed, even when Kylo was praising him, coddling him. Now he looks like death; his skin stretches over the structure of his skull, bruise-purple around his sunken eyes. Without his bright hair, he’d look like a reanimated corpse, a devil being from one of the horror stories that Wookiees tell about the bald and restless dead. 

Kylo still finds him slightly more attractive than Norra, which seems unfair. 

Hux doesn’t draw a blaster, just erupts into fury. Kylo relaxes. He had been prepared to block bolts. 

“How dare you, how dare you. That senile old Yaxx told me the engagement was over. He said--he said--you.” Hux lifts his arm, unfurls an accusatory finger. It reminds him of waking to Hux standing over him.  _ My troops, my army. My intended.  _

“You went behind my back. Seduced her, although who knows how.” 

The correct thing to do would be to throw Hux against the wall for insubordination, except Hux does have an idea--he’s thinking of Kylo posing for a portrait, his cock erect in his hand. Kylo’s imaginary cock is huge, even bigger than the reality. Kylo doesn’t want to shatter that image.

Instead, he talks. “You intended to use her to build your own power against me. Money, men, connections. Everything you wanted to usurp me.” 

Hux doesn’t recover from an accusation as well as Raydus does, can’t gracefully admit to a mistake. He just lies.

“No. That’s not true. I wouldn’t betray you. Not the way you just did to me.”

“You’re just embarrassing yourself. Raydus told me your plans.” Well, he hadn’t, exactly. But from the way Hux recoils, the plotting had gone further than Kylo had thought. “Did you truly think I would let you amass the resources to stab me in the back?”

“I wouldn’t have.” Hux seems like he’s surprised even himself with that admission. “I’ve slept by your side multiple times. If I had wanted to, I could have. Literally, by now.”

He does have a point. 

Kylo tells himself that Hux was probably just waiting until he secured the credits. Also, that even if Hux had come at him, he would have sensed it, blocked Hux. He’s not stupid.

“Perhaps I should have,” Hux mutters, then whips a hand to his neck so quickly that Kylo laughs. It’s too funny to be treason, although Hux moves his hand to cover his mouth, the white notch above his lip twitching against his black glove. As if he can scoop the words back into his mouth.

“I don’t--you don’t need to stab me. I’m not in love with her.” It’s true. He probably hasn’t ever been in love with anybody, although he doesn’t know why he’s admitting this to Hux. Maybe he just feels like saying something stupid back.

That shifts something in Hux. His nose unwrinkles, his eyes focus. His hand drops from his mouth. He’s not quite as unhappy anymore, even nods, ever so slightly. As if he understands, wants to compliment him, even, for being a bit clever.

This is going differently than he thought it would. Better, maybe? He hasn’t considered what  _ better _ even means in this situation.

Hux might as well know the rest of the plan. Kylo can be generous to him, let him know things, even though Hux wouldn’t do the same for him.

“You’re to have a promotion.” There, that should make him happy.

“Grand Marshal?” Kylo feels Hux’s sudden excitement thrumming in his own heart. “Ah, forgive my presumption, but there couldn’t be a better choice--”

“We’re reinstating a distributed governance system.” Kylo uses Raydus’s words, certain that Hux will comprehend them, even if they still confuse the actual Supreme Leader a bit. “Our territory is now just too large to not have overseers. You’re to be governor of the new Autta Sector. At Tulux.” 

“What? A governor? On Tulux?” The life drains back out of Hux’s face. “No. I don’t want it.”

“Why not?” Kylo knows that Hux keeps a book of old imperial terminology under his bed. He found it once, when he didn’t feel like leaving Hux’s room quite yet. It’s made of real paper, and the pages listing the various ranks and titles have gone translucent with Hux’s fingerprints. “It’s like a moff. Maybe even a grand moff.” 

He doesn’t know the true equivalent, is just holding it out in front of Hux to tempt him. He thought Hux would jump at this, at the opportunity to gain another title, to rule, in his own little way. But Hux is standing before him, wet-eyed, lips parted. Not angry, just sad, as if he’s just been dealt a blow. 

“May I approach?”

Hux stops in front of him, close enough that they’re almost touching, hands behind his back as if he’s forbidden to touch.

“It’s impossible to--officially, between us, I mean. But.” 

“What’s impossible?” Kylo gets it a second after he asks, and not just because Hux’s mind is wide open. 

_ I want to be your bride.  _ It’s less of a fetish for Armitage now, more a reality. He doesn’t imagine himself in elaborate dresses but simply in his uniform, or his pajama pants, what he wears to their meetings in real life. All right, he’s imagining himself in snug lace panties, but he just likes that, rather wishes Kylo would go back to it, to being someone’s pretty thing.

Hux wants Kylo, Kylo wants him. They could never be bound together under law, but they’re tied on a string, nonetheless. At least in Hux’s mind. 

Hux puts a hand on his chest. It’s strange, for Hux to touch him, when they’re not fucking.

“We’re a comfort to each other. That doesn’t need to change.”

Kylo feels the moisture of Hux’s breath pulse against his cheek.

“You don’t need to send me away.”

Kylo doesn’t like to be reminded of people from his past, but for some reason he thinks of the last Supreme Leader. They had known each other for a long time, but Kylo knew him first as part of his own thoughts, thrown back at him, twisted. The harsh words made sense, because they were Kylo’s own. 

When they had met as corporeal beings, he had trouble understanding Hux at first, because he used words nobody ever said. Like  _ cur _ . He remembers Snoke calling Hux a cur. Kylo knew the word meant something bad, and that Snoke probably said similar things about  _ him  _ when only Hux was around, but he hadn’t thought about what it actually meant. He’d been busy with other things.

Later on, when he had more time, he had looked it up, just out of curiosity. It wasn’t just a ridiculous word for  _ sleemo _ . It meant  _ dog _ . Snoke thought of Hux as his ugly, diseased pet. 

Kylo looks down at Hux’s hand, the black-gloved fingers shifting with tiny caresses. Hux is loyal, just like a dog is, just like Snoke had said. 

_ He wants to sniff at power’s feet. It doesn’t matter who, it just matters that it happens. That has to be what all this is about. He’d savage you if he thought he had half the chance. _

Someone else’s words echo in his mind.  _ That’s  _ normal _. It’s normal to want to be around other people, to be cared for. To care for somebody else.  _

“Won’t you miss me? If I’m so far from you?”

He will. He’ll miss Armitage, strange creature that he is. His endless desire for cock is what he’ll miss most, of course. But also his silly misconceptions about body fluids and purity, his exaggerated perception of his own neatness and trimness.

But he can’t be childish. This is statecraft. He’s finally acting like an adult. This is a decision he’s making for the safety of his own people and for the consolidation of his position.

Before he can announce all that, Hux’s lips are on his own.

Kylo hasn’t kissed enough people to judge, but Hux is probably clumsy. But it feels good. Warm and slightly wet, the smell of paia and Hux’s own sharp sweat, the taste of Hux’s spit, which tastes like Hux’s sour mouth, which is what you’d expect. 

Hux breaks away first, murmurs in his ear. “Make me Grand Marshal instead. That way I’ll be able to--”

The kiss meant nothing. Hux will want and want and want, and nothing will change him. Raydus will still be right about his skills. He has to go.

“I don’t think you understand. You’re disobeying a direct order from your Supreme Leader.”

Hux stiffens against him. 

“I make you governor of Tulux. Or I march you out of here, strip you down to your briefs, and have you whipped on the bridge for disrespecting my authority. Don’t make me give you what you want.” 

He uses the Force to freeze Hux in place, which is awkward, as Hux has his arms entwined around him. Kylo slowly undoes the embrace. It shouldn’t hurt Hux, at least not physically, although Kylo can feel all of Hux’s reactions, the softening of his half hard cock, the cold slimy sweat beading underneath his armpits, the churning of his guts. He blocks Hux’s emotions, concentrates on getting Hux to his feet, standing upright and balanced and well away from where he can reach Kylo, even with a tip of a finger. 

He releases his grip. Hux stands perfectly straight for a moment, water suddenly gushing from his eyes, lips parted in an surprised oh. Then he crumples to the floor, arms wheeling, greatcoat flying from his shoulders.  

Kylo expects Hux to pop up again, furious, screaming. But he stays down, his head buried in his arms. His back is twitching underneath his tunic, but Kylo doesn’t hear him make a sound.

To get rid of the sick feeling in his stomach, Kylo tells himself that if Hux could see it happen to somebody else, he’d laugh, think it’s funny. 

Despite himself, he reaches out to sense Hux’s feelings, what he’s thinking. But there’s nothing specific to Hux, annoying or not, just horror, fear, hatred. There’s a break in him, somehow. Something that Snoke never managed to do, with all his power. 

Kylo feels very strong, and very sad.

Now he remembers what he had done with that toy, that silly talking soldier. He’d thrown it against the wall in a fit of rage, and they couldn’t put it together again, and it had gone right back in the trash.  _ Where it belongs _ , his mother had said. 

She’d been right, had always had some intelligence, even if her ideals were idiotic, even if she had wasted her time on emotional attachments that were below a princess’s rank. He should be like her, but better. Like Raydus. This is adulthood. Realizing what you shouldn’t be involved with. Realizing what isn’t worth fixing.  _ Finally  _ not letting unworthy people get in his head.

Still, Kylo waits for a few seconds more, hoping that Hux will give him some sort of reaction, something that he can whet his feelings against. 

Nothing happens. 

Kylo considers picking up Hux, either with the Force or with his own two hands, and depositing him back at the door. He knows he can do it, wonders if Hux would somehow feel lighter now, like a hollow practice saber.

Instead, he retreats back into his bedroom, sends a tendril of the Force outside to read Hux’s signature, just to sense that he’s there, that he’s slowly unfolding himself. That he’s going away, without destruction on his end.

When Kylo can’t sense anything anymore--no emotions, no physical presence--he finally lets himself down onto his black bedding. It’s strangely cold. 

Exertion, that’s all it is. Sometimes delicate Force work ends up leaving you feeling this way.

_ That’s the last time the Supreme Leader sees Armitage Hux. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> found some cool art for my fic 
> 
> https://twitter.com/pants/status/1065585899927412736?s=19
> 
> (j/k... kind of)


	6. Chapter 6

The future governor of Tulux blows his nose into the sleeve of his greatcoat.

He’s searched his pockets for his handkerchief, but it’s disappeared. An odd detail to concentrate on, given that he’s on the bridge and the entire Black Quadrant of Kuatta stretches before him, ripe for devastation. But his mind is odd these days. He loses things. Items of clothing, engagements. Command. 

Hux stares down at the wet spot on his sleeve and momentarily entertains the thought of asking one of his lieutenants on the  _ Executrix _ for a handkerchief--but it might be interpreted as an admission of weakness.  _ Look how dirty he’s become.  _ He has no idea what these men and women think of him. They seem docile enough, but he can’t guarantee their loyalty. They know he’s leaving soon, and they may know other things as well, depending on what gossip has gotten about. 

Even if they have a healthy opinion of him, he doesn’t want them to think his powers of understanding are lacking.

They are, though. He’ll have to keep it hidden as best he can. Armitage Hux doesn’t quite understand where he  _ is _ . 

Physically, yes, he knows, he’s not completely demented. He’s on the bridge, standing upright with a bit of effort, suffering from what seems to be an allergic reaction to his surroundings. Waiting to do his part in another battle for Kuatta.

_ His part.  _ That’s one of his problems. He’s supposedly in co-command-- _ co-command, how insulting _ \--but the  _ Executrix  _ is no flagship. They don’t even have a proper air filtration center, it seems. His eyes are watering, his throat burning.

He remembers himself standing on the bridge of the  _ Supremacy _ , the  _ Finalizer _ . Quite imposing, quite clever. The second-in-command of a great army, the architect of a great terror. The lover of--

The bristles of lights that form the Kuattan docks smear before his eyes. He won’t think about  _ that _ .

And now what is he, in the space of a few weeks? He can’t comprehend it. 

Well, to be honest, he can comprehend part of it. Tulux is not the sort of place where a disgruntled underling can easily make trouble. Hardly any people, not enough resources. He doesn’t know if the most Supreme Leader Kylo Ren figured that out on his own or if he merely picked the place off a map and struck lucky. He wouldn’t put it past the man to do the latter.

Either way, the assignment is obviously a punishment in disguise. It’s obvious that he’s being put out of the way for his failures. Grand Governor Hux, stuck on Tulux. It rhymes, if you mispronounce the name of that poor, out-of-the-way planet.

In a way, it’s useful. He can bury his private grief under his public humiliation.

He can’t comprehend the rest of his life. In the abstract, there won’t be a marriage for him. No wife to tend to him, no children for them to create together. In the specific, he won’t have Norra, or her money, or her father’s support, unreliable as  _ that _ may have been.

And he won’t have Ren, either. He despises Ren almost as much as he despises himself for his own weakness, but he also has memories of certain sensations and actions that he has no way to recreate. Sexual actions, yes, but also the warmth of Ren’s hand on his belly, underneath his pajamas. 

When he wakes, he wakes alone. 

This will be his condition for the foreseeable future.

He never should have let Ren stay the hours in his bed. Hux has never slept by anyone’s side before--he had suffered some cold hours as a child, but it wasn’t something that was done, no matter the conditions. Perhaps by ferals, by his lessers, but he had always had the privilege of a bunk to himself. It’s a mark of honor, to have one’s own space and enough resources to keep it warm.

He remembers that first time, though. Ren had slumped against him, pinning him against the wall, gasping softly.  _ I’ve tired him out _ , Hux had realized.  _ I managed to do that. With this body. _

He was suddenly inclined to let Ren have the reward of his bed. After a good wash, of course, but Ren had earned it.  _ For services in the cause of fucking _ , he’d almost said.  _ Good job. _

Ren had taken him up on it, multiple times. The man slept naked, which struck Hux as impossibly impractical--didn’t he get cold? Was it an invitation? He’d rejected it. He’d had his fantasies--silk sheets, silk panties, heavy hands pinning down his wrists--but they were impractical. He wouldn’t foul his own bunk with bodily fluids if he could at all help it. Ren had told him that they didn’t all come from the same place, that his father had lied to him and he wasn’t as entirely filthy as he thought, but  _ still. _

It had been surprisingly good just to lie together. He hadn’t slept so soundly in years, even for the short time he and Ren permitted themselves. Hux doesn’t dream--oh, physiologically, he knows he must, but his mind doesn’t retain such irrationality when he wakes. But he has vague memories of being in the presence of something vast and comforting, a feeling that had lasted when he had awakened, in the middle of the night. Like he’d tamed some enormous, beautiful beast. The impression had lasted, and he had had pleasant, possible-dreams of placing a hand on Ren’s shoulder, of tracing the moles along the skin over his ribs. 

Now his rest hours are anything but restful. He lies awake, even under a dose of stims that would have put him well under in the past. Perhaps it’s panic over leaving his quarters. He doesn’t think of himself as sentimental, but his rooms were once his father’s. He  _ killed  _ to get them. He doesn’t know anything else, nor does he want to. How will he sleep in a new place? On a  _ planet _ ? He’ll die of sun. Or gravity.

_ Or loneliness _ .

He tries to fill the empty hours in useful ways. No tears, no self-abuse. Instead, he’s thought up some rather vivid methods of assassinating Ren and his treacherous little bride, preferably on their wedding day. Poison gas through the vents of the room, blow darts, various ways of administering poison through food and drink.

But when day breaks, so to speak, he remembers the complications. First of all, he has the most obvious motive. It wouldn’t matter, except his star is shining slightly less brightly than it was when he was newly the Starkiller. In the aftermath, anyone could seize power. He might be doing several of his rivals favors. The prize might even fall into Raydus’s lap, unless he absolutely makes sure of that gas. The thought of it makes him feel even more ill than he usually does these days.

More shamefully, he’s not sure whether he wants them dead. In the abstract, of course, yes, he’s quite happy to think of them eliminated, suffering for crossing his will. But it takes a surprising amount effort to summon up that strength of hatred for Norra. He has as much trouble imagining her enjoying her suffering as he could imagining her particulars as a wife. 

Ren, though. 

Mind-reading powers hadn’t been necessary to understand the man’s feelings. He hadn’t lied to himself about that, the man had said it himself. “I don’t love her.” He had  _ said _ it. And who had he loved, if not-- 

It had been so flattering, to think that he was still desired. The feeling of Ren’s lips against his, the chap, the slight taste of blood. It hadn’t mattered, hadn’t--neither of them had loved her, really--there was nothing to compete over. Perhaps he had been a bit overzealous in his self-promotion, but why not? The leader, his beautiful bride, his Grand Marshal overlooking them, resplendent in black and silver or white and gold. He’d wear something matching underneath, for later on. Such a pretty picture--how could Ren reject it?

Well, he could. He should have known.

_ I’ve miscalculated, dreadfully. _

He would have known how to manage a slap or a punch, or some magical application of pain. Discipline is part of the order of things, after all, as is cruelty. But he hadn’t expected that cold untangling, that movement against his will. It was as if--as if he was actually repellant. 

Freedom hadn’t helped. His body had stayed confused, as if he couldn’t get back into his own control--it took a vast effort just to attempt to catch himself as he fell. 

As a child, Hux had amused himself reading about substances that people could be frozen in, left immobile for years, centuries. He’d thought of that as he lay on the floor, trying to sense the floor beneath his hands, waiting for whatever happened next. Ren would prop him against the wall, he imagined, or hang him from the ceiling as a trophy. He’d watch as Ren grew older, Norra’s children playing beneath him, all the while still desiring. 

_ You had him right there, you imbecile. You could have cut his throat.  _ His father’s voice, from far away. About as useful as he ever was.

Not his fate, though. Slowly the life had come back to him, wet breath, wet lashes, wet trousers. Undignified, but better to feel that than nothing at all. At least he’d thought so, until his muscles began to spasm, protesting for being used against their will. 

When he raised his head, Ren had already disappeared. Perhaps he was lurking in the shadows. It hadn’t mattered at the time.

He had gone back to his rooms, mostly through the hidden passageways, to save his shame. Washed himself, arranged himself on the bed, atop the sheets, which still smelled faintly of--of someone else. His body had relaxed, in the automatic expectation of the presence of another person, the corresponding actions, a touch, a caress.    


Hux catches himself, massaging his thigh through the lining of his pocket, stiffens, blushes. Has anyone seen him at it? There isn’t a even a handkerchief there. He’s checked a thousand times. How  _ tired  _ he is. 

There’s even a hole in the pocket lining.  _ Sloppy.  _ Out of a desire to keep himself awake, Hux rips the lining further apart with his fingers, hikes the bottom edges of his greatcoat up into his hand. There’s something in between the lining and the gaberwool, solid to the touch. 

Hux fishes it out, wondering if it’s something that he could use as a weapon, or if perhaps it’s antiirritant medication for the nose.

Hux starts. It’s Norra’s portrait of him. 

It doesn’t look any different than before. Had she actually thought he was handsome? Or had she meant to flatter? One day, perhaps, he would have found out, had she wished to be by his side. 

The  _ Executrix  _ shifts slightly, and Hux loses his grip. The portrait drops to the floor, and the silver frame shatters into a thousand pieces. Hux kneels down, frantically trying to scoop them up before anyone sees what he’s been pining over, but it seems like there are too many parts to it. His first thought is that he’s managed to drive himself into full psychosis, but no, he’s not love-mad enough to hallucinate wiring.    


Why in the universe would his portrait have an amateur tracker-trigger in it?

It’s the kind of thing that you’d hide in a victim’s pocket, with a bit of explosive, then set off with a the coupled half of the trigger. Hux used this method himself, in his younger years. It tends to be unstable, and this isn’t quite finished--no explosive inside. A practice run. Foolish, whoever did it, to let someone know that--

_ Norra. Norra did it. _

Norra, who never once felt any emotion other than what her father told her to feel. Or, rather, who never  _ showed _ any emotion in front of anyone. The real situation might have been quite different. Hux does know something about hiding one’s feelings others. Especially from one’s parent. 

Norra, who has a hobby that involves a great deal of chemical mixing. Norra, whose background he has singularly failed to investigate, because he let her damnable father vouch for her in the form of a large amount of credits. 

Norra, who, judging by the dirty little three-beaked bird scratched on the underside of the portrait, is--

_ Dear stars _ .

He wouldn’t have known except for this one jostle, this one stroke of luck. If there hadn’t been a hole in his pocket… well.

Whips out his datapad, accesses the private channel. 

_ You’re in danger. Norra Perisingo-Yaxx is a terrorist. She may have _ \--he swipes back the words-- _ she has designs on your life.  _

The datapad squawks back at him as soon as he attempts to send. He shouldn’t be surprised that the channel is closed.

He tries the holo. It’s public, and therefore embarrassing, but technically any officer of his rank should be able to access the Supreme Leader directly. He’d never had a problem before, whether he wanted to speak to the incumbent of the position or not.

But instead of Ren’s scowling face, he gets--a protocol droid?

“I’m sorry, General. The Supreme Leader is in a private session right now.”

“A private session? What is he doing, jacking off?” He immediately regrets the lewd language, and the droid regrets it, too, judging by its tone of voice. 

“General, the Supreme Leader is attending a very important ceremony. If I may say so, sir--”

_ A very important ceremony.  _ The presence of the droid, the secrecy--it all falls into place.

Ren is getting married. Today.

“I have to go,” Hux rasps to his startled adjutant. “I have an urgent message for the Supreme Leader.” 

“I have an urgent message from the Supreme Leader.” One of the pale face below the bridge turns up toward him. 

An older man, ugly, wretched.  _ A tool almost ready for the scrap heap _ , Hux thinks. The personnel surrounding him sit stunned at their consoles. The man goes on.

“You always have to fucking go to Supreme Leader when the fighting is hot! Go off, run!”

Hux manages to kick the lieutenant in the face before turning and walking out.

It isn’t difficult to leave, physically. He has the authority to command transport, and it isn’t very far to the  _ Finalizer _ \--all the ships have been massed round Kuatta as a show of strength. 

_ You’ve left the battle. It’s desertion, or it looks that way, at least.  _

_ Why can’t you just let him-- _

He can’t, he just can’t. 

Once he reaches the  _ Finalizer _ , Hux swings himself into the veins of the ship, the background network that he knows like the veins in his own hand. He runs through these hidden-away corridors, as fast as he can. It isn’t very fast. Every drawn breath provides a worse stab of pain in his inflamed lungs, and he wonders again why he’s doing this.  _ Because you left the Executrix, you can’t go back there now. You’ve put yourself on the line for-- _

Perhaps he’s going in the wrong direction. Or perhaps the ceremony, and the disaster he fears, will all be over by the time he arrives. Or perhaps he’s miscalculated again, and nothing is going to happen at all. He imagines the faces of the wedding guests, sneering at him,  _ poor mad Armitage _ \--

It doesn’t bear thinking about. 

Finally he comes to where he guesses the wedding will be. The same room he had had reserved for his own ceremony, what seems like a lifetime ago.

He punches in the codes, slides open the door to Room 520-AEX16.

The door opens to darkness, punctuated by an island of light. Ren and Norra stand before him, in front of a small altar to some god or another that Hux doesn’t believe in. The dais is lit in an odd way--candles, so many of them that Hux wonders if a third party had the idea to put poison in wax. But no, that’s a bit much, even for the Order. He’s mesmerized by the sheer amount of superfluous flame, and then all he can see is Ren’s face, warm in the strange light, a thin silver chain glinting at his neck, a  _ locket _ \--

Before anyone has a chance to think, Hux steps into the lit circle. He thrusts his blade out of his sleeve and swipes it across Ren’s neck.

The chain falls into his hands. 

It’s not a locket. It’s solid metal plate with some strange writing on it. 

_ Another miscalculation. _

The people around him suddenly lurch into action. “It’s not what you think, she’s trying to kill you.” He’s babbling. A hand lands on his arm--he’s going to die, here, now--oh, it’s Norra, trying to pry him away from Kylo, to get between them.

Someone’s turned up the lights, and Hux can see Norra plain. The heavy bauble at her neck, the trinket hanging from her hair. The gown she’s wearing. It’s a beautiful fabric, dark and beaded and shimmering. 

When he grabs her, a sweet smell wafts up from the folds of her dress. It could be perfume, you could mistake it for perfume if you were a lover or a husband or anything other than an Order soldier whose youthful hobby was planning assassinations.

_ Natraxolene _ . 

She’s a human incendiary. 

Hux grabs Norra’s shoulders and pushes her to the floor. He doesn’t even have time to enjoy it, too focused on his search for the trigger. She could have put it anywhere--her earrings, her necklace. Her underthings, even. He plunges a hand down the front of her dress. 

“Get off me!” Norra is surprisingly good at self-defense, the evidence being a sudden, severe pain in his groin. He tries to keep his grip on her, but there are other hands on him now, wrenching his hands behind his back, dragging him roughly off the dais, forcing him to kneel.

Somebody laughs. “For fuck’s sake, he’s cracked."

He’s going to vomit from the pain of it, would, if he didn’t have to warn Ren first. “She means to harm you--there’s something on her, I swear. She’s a traitor and a liar.  _ Scum. _ ” His voice cracks, and the laughter catches, until the room seems aflame with it. 

He had been frightened, what seems like so very long ago, of private inadequacies. That Norra might laugh at him, that he would be clumsy. Then he had been frightened that Ren would have him punished-- _ don’t make me give you what you want _ \--fucked and thrashed in public, his cock dangling between his legs for anyone to see.

He should have called Ren’s bluff. It would almost have been better than this. It would have hurt less, at least. Right now he feels like he couldn’t fuck again if his life depended on it. 

He can still see Ren and Norra, standing above them all. Norra has her arms thrown round Ren’s neck, face buried in his shoulder. As if she needs protection, the ballwrecker. Ren’s face… Ren must be the only man who isn’t laughing. He looks calm, as if none of this frantic activity and laughter had anything to do with him. 

_ He’s looking at me. _

He can think, even if he can’t speak.  _ She’s a rebel, a terrorist, she’s about to murder you, I swear it, step away from her. _

Ren doesn’t move. He has such dark eyes. Such a strange face. It’s as if he’s wearing a mask now. How little he’s seen of Kylo, himself.

_ I did this for you, I shouldn’t have, it was too-- _ He doesn’t know what it was too much of.  _ I wasn’t careful of you.  _

Ren’s eyes widen and at the same time Norra runs her hand over her body, a hand lingering at her chest, and she twists her fingers a certain way just so and--

_ Beads, of course, she coded the beads and-- _

The room goes white.

Hux has the faint impression of something pushing against him before something impacts into his body. His ears ache, and he’s sure he’ll feel worse pain, very soon, worse even than before. 

_ I’m so tired.  _ It’s dark now, and warm, like the water in his dream. Perhaps the monster will bear him away soon.

_ Mine, mine, mine. You’re mine. She won’t hurt you. _

Hux closes his eyes and lets himself drift away into his monster's arms.


	7. Chapter 7

The bridegroom can’t remember his own name. Names, possibly. Which one to choose. He has so many. 

It’s not important right now. What’s important now is the body, inhabiting it, protecting it. There had been a bright light, and a disintegration. He had barely had time to create any defense against something so close.  _ A person _ ,  _ a human as a weapon herself, _ he thinks, and turns his thoughts away from the shock.

The pain will come later, and all the worse. People are dying; he can sense their departure, into the the great sea of undifferentiated being. It isn’t pulling at him, he won’t die. He never does, no matter what happens to him. He senses the hazy presences of less injured men, frightened and surprised, and one presence that he knows very well. 

He senses the pressure of fingers against the side of his cheek, icy traces running down one side of his face. 

_ Mother. Why did you send her to kill me? _

The old woman stares at him with empty eyes.  _ I didn’t send her. You created her, through your own actions. _

_ You did it. Don’t lie to me!  _ The sensation disappears.  _ You’re trying to kill me, to take me with you, into the Force--you failed-- _

_ How could you be so wrong?  _ He hears the hint of his living mother’s exasperation in this vision-mother’s voice.  _ We’ll never meet on this side or in any other realm. You’ll live forever, just as you wanted. You have your wish. _

As if she’s corporeal, Ben reaches out to trap her hand against his cheek, but there’s nothing there. 

Instead, he plunges his hand into the meat of his own ruined face.

The pain of his scream sends him hurtling back into unconsciousness.

* * *

 

Kylo Ren knows his name. 

He knows other things, too, or can guess. He’s probably in medbay. His entire body is numb, and his sight is poor. Like an exercise in darkness, only no one has set this for him to do. The energy is calmer--everyone here has a purpose, even if they’re in distress. 

_ Don’t die don’t die don’t die don’t die _

He doesn’t plan to. It never happens. A memory of the general-princess flickers across his mind, and he chases it to no result. 

The mental voice grows stronger. It isn’t his mother pleading. His eyes focus enough for him to make out something astral-pale. He recognizes it as Hux, less through his eyes than through the Force; Hux’s anxieties are familiar enough that they’re almost comforting. He’s upset about seeing something dirty--blood, or pus, perhaps--and he’s frightened, both on Kylo’s behalf, which makes sense, because something is definitely wrong, and on his own behalf, which makes sense because it’s Hux. The selfishness is reassuring.

Suddenly other voices break out, loud and angry. New people in the area. It’s an effort to make out what they’re saying. He wouldn’t want to listen to them even if he wasn’t hurt--and now he wonders how hurt he actually is--and now that he knows that  _ something _ is hurt, he wants them gone even more.

Something tightens around his fingers. He thinks at first that it must be a droid, or a humanoid nurse, but then he realizes that Hux is gripping his hand. He must still be wearing his gloves. 

“Oh, ran off to be by leader’s side now, hm?” 

“If you dare--” Hux’s voice bursts out, high and determined. 

Kylo closes his eyes to concentrate, but it’s still a struggle to pick out the words from the slurry of the men’s voices, imperial accents all intertwining together. Hux’s words occasionally come to the surface, in and out like a star blinking from behind a cloud of galactic dirt. They’re speaking about an arrest, desertion, how Hux is under some charge or another now, Hux defending himself.

“I had information about a potential danger to the person of the--”

“How the fuck did you know, you little--”

They’re confused, and hateful of each other. Hux is on the verge of panic. He’s exhausted, injured. He should be in a bed himself. 

“Stop clinging to him, damn you,” Hux’s fingers are pried away. Kylo doesn’t like that. It’s colder without him, even though he had been clinging so tight. 

He opens his eyes again--eye? Something is numb, or gone. He understands the scene before him for a split second--smears of gray that must be officer’s uniforms. a heavyset figure wrenching Hux’s arm upward.

He can figure out where the man’s neck is. That’s enough. He turns his hand, pinches his fingers together, and watches as the gray figure holding Hux collapses to the floor. It’s easy, almost disappointingly so. 

The combined fear and horror from the men surrounding him is like water in the desert. 

“If you lay another hand on him, I’ll have you all shot.” 

It’s harder to draw the breath to speak out loud than to choke a man with the Force. The pain comes through in his voice, though, imposing, genuine. He’d be pleased if it didn’t hurt so damn much. 

“Leave me.” He adds a push to it, so that the men stumble back, suitably cowed. 

“Except you.” He doesn’t know if he has to say it, but it’s worth the effort anyway. 

The fear and hatred drain out of the room as the men leave. Only Hux is left, looking--he can’t tell how he looks. Awful, probably. Remembers him from what must be--what, a few hours, a few days before? Hux had been on his knees, gasping, shouting at him. People were laughing. He’d felt miserable about it, although he had done something very similar not so long before.

“What time is it?”

Hux leans over him, whispers the hour in his ear. It hasn’t been very long. He should be with Norra right now, in his quarters. Satisfied, asleep, and whole.

Instead, he’s with Hux. Without whom he wouldn’t be here at all, he knows.

“I wanted to thank you. For telling me.”

“I assure you, I didn’t know, it was pure luck--I meant to--”

Hux's voice falls to a buzz in his ear. The exact meaning of his words are obscured by the strength of his thoughts. He’s completely sincere in whatever he’s saying. Hux wasn’t in on it, whatever it had been, whatever it is that he’s trying to explain. He despises Norra, hates her in a way that seems ludicrous for someone who is, after all, still on his feet. 

Kylo remembers Norra’s fingernails digging into his back. Her triumph stabbing into him like a knife.

He reaches in the direction of Hux, trying to find his lips, or to make a gesture to shut him up, but finds his hand, again. 

Kylo’s vision clears for a moment, and he can see Hux’s face in full, how tired he is, the way he flinches away from contact. The bright red patch on his own hand, which almost seems as if it’s detached. There must be a million painkillers running through him right now.

_ He’s frightened of me.  _

_ What am I, now? _

His fingers come to rest against Hux’s palm.

The noise coming out of Hux’s mouth stops. The desperate need to explain himself disappears at the same time, replaced by a relief so strong that Kylo can see it even as Hux’s face smudges out of focus, the pink blur of his lips curving upwards.

“Let me,” Hux croaks, and Kylo watches as he takes off one of his gloves, the white emerging from underneath the black. Without protection, Hux’s palms are cool and clammy. They feel incredibly good, just like they have before.

He should probably say thank you again, what with the life-saving and all, but it hurts too much to talk again. So he brings Hux’s hand to his lips.

The wave of emotion from Hux is almost enough to distract him from the glistening red stain he’s left across Hux’s knuckles. 

_ How injured am I?  _ He should ask, should rage, but Hux is so relieved that it seems unimportant for the moment. Strangely enough, Kylo senses something inside him return Hux’s feelings. He can’t quite identify some of them, because he hasn’t felt them himself for so long--calm, belonging. Maybe happiness.

_ I’m glad you’re here. _ He squeezes Hux’s hand.

_ This… isn’t natural.  _ The voice of his mother drifts into his mind, whether through his own recollection or through time and space, he can’t tell.

_ I’m not natural. And I’m glad I’ve become unnatural. _

He lets the wave of feeling carry him away, falls into sleep, Hux’s hand warm in his. 

He’ll figure out exactly how unnatural he’s become tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leia would NOT approve, I imagine she would be a... KyPoe? A Damer-Ben? Also I imagine that she would come through space and time to chide you on your romantic choice, or at least that Kylo would imagine her doing so.


	8. Chapter 8

_ What have I done? _

Armitage Hux tries to think back to a time when he’s done something for anyone other than himself, when he had done it freely, when he hadn’t been compelled by his father or his own self-interest or both. It must have happened sometime--he’d been kind to a small recruit, or--he doesn’t know. He didn’t bite off Captain Arkriss’s cock, even though the man richly deserved it. 

_ I saved Kylo Ren’s life _ . 

He almost protests to the air that he didn’t mean to, that there was some ulterior motive, but no, there’s no getting around it. He’s done something selfless. And for Kylo Ren. 

He’s endlessly grateful that Kylo is alive. Even burnt, even ill. Kylo is alive, and they’re not separated, for now. 

He might be in love, silly concept though that is. It’s terrible, this feeling for another person. Terrible, the things that people do to each other.

He remembers the heat and noise, and what he’d woken up to in that room. The smell of it, the fire spreading across the walls. 

It’s very hot in this room, too. He’s had the doors locked, so it’s just the two of them and the medical droids, and the vents are closed. He’s checked the walls for secret entrances. Nothing can get in, nothing can get out. He’s in control here. 

The one thing that seems real is Kylo’s hand round his, swallowing up his fingers. He only slips his hand out of Kylo’s grasp when a medical droid insists that he no longer contaminate the patient’s skin. 

_ I saved his life.  _ He doesn’t know if that’s true, technically. He’s almost certain that it’s so, that his warning helped somehow. 

_ He saved mine.  _ That’s true enough. He remembers Colonel Tregan and his men, crowding round him at the foot of Ren’s bed. They had been on his heels, even though he was the first, even though he was rattled, even though he had to step through filth and muck to follow his man.

He had expected others, really, that his fellow officers would want updates on the conditions of their Supreme Leader. He was in the perfect position to give those updates, he’d stay by Ren’s side--

He hadn’t expected Tregan shouting at him about desertion of his post, dereliction of duty. He had explained to them the realities of the situation, that he was still their general, and that he had been on a mission to protect the life of the Supreme Leader and that--

Tregan had screamed in rage.

“Fuck the chain of command! I’ll have you whipped with the chain of command!”

What a choice of words. It would have been funny, stupid Tregan and his attempts to turn a phrase, if the other men hadn’t been there and staring at him, like they would tear him limb from limb. 

_ I’ve lost them. It’s finally happened. _

_ You’re weak, Armitage. _

He had suddenly seen it, the end of himself, his men turned against him, tearing at him as he bore down on himself not to cry, not to sob or scream, to hold his bladder. He wouldn’t deserve their mockery, no matter what more they did to him.  _ Let me die a soldier, please, please, gentlemen, don’t-- _

Tregan crumpling at his feet had been like a wish fulfilled, the kind of power one dreams of as a child. His lackeys had scattered like rackabugs.

Now that that nightmare is over, he scolds himself mildly for giggling in front of the men while Tregan gasped for air. 

He still can’t believe that Ren had done it.

_ He trusts me. He wants me safe.  _

_ He wants me. _

Hux orders the doors to the room double locked, again, listens to the bolts slide open and shut. It’s a reassurance. Trust only goes so far. 

He should go out, attempt to rally the soldiers. Status reports, news of the battle. Perhaps he should attempt to groom himself, present a good image to the men. His uniform stinks of smoke, and of other substances.

First he’ll allow himself a short rest. Just a bit of time, to calm himself. His hands are shaking, his stomach is queasy. His groin is still sore, from where--he won’t think about that now. She’s gone. 

There isn’t anywhere to sit, so Hux curls up against the durasteel wall. It’s not that bad, it feels cool, at least, it’s so warm--

He opens his eyes to something looming above him in the low light.

Instinct kicks in, and he scrabbles his heels against the smooth floor, trying to get himself up, even if it’s the last time.

“Do you want to get up?” the figure intones. It’s only Ren--only Ren, how odd to think that way, and be relieved about it.

He nods, and suddenly he’s rising from the floor, very gently, as if an invisible strength is pulling him up. Not against his will, rather as if he had a friend’s assistance.

It reminds him, and he wonders whether he is still quite in touch with reality, of something he had seen long ago, a holovid that must have snuck past his father’s control: one human asking another human to dance. The grace of it, the way one of them had put their hand on the other’s back. The way they moved, together. He had thought it very decadent but remembered it all the same, possibly so it would be useful in this moment, so he wouldn’t be scared. 

Anyone in their right mind would be scared. While he’s slept, the droids have re-dressed Ren’s wounds. His face is half-covered by some sort of bacta plaster; there are tubes extending behind him, extruding from layers upon layers of packing wrapped around his body. It’s the latest technology, supposed to keep you out of the tank, and the bacta more efficient. That may be true, but it looks like Kylo Ren is slowly transforming into a grub.

“Don’t lie there like that. Come to bed.” 

Hux is about to say that he won’t fit, but it’s not true. The room is rather plush, has been kitted out for a very important invalid, possibly a xeno one--had he approved this outlay? He’d never--and the bed is large enough to be comfortable for two humans, possibly three. What a waste of resources.

Anyway. “I can’t, I’m dirty.”

“Come on.”

“Don’t be foolish. I’m covered in dirt. I’m sick. I’ll sneeze on you.”

Ren sits back down, heavily, clumsily. It’s shocking that he’s up at all; he was so badly burnt. His magic may be stronger than his body at this point.

When Ren talks, it’s slow. He points to himself.  “This is bacta.”

_ Nothing will get through _ , he means. 

Nothing should get through to either of them tonight. Today? Hux stares at the door, which looks so useful among all the imperial excess of this sickroom. He doesn’t know what’s out there. They could have been deposed. Perhaps they’re imprisoned now, the rest of the Order waiting to eliminate the both of them while they’re weak. Kuatta was unfinished, as was Raydus Perisingo-Yaxx. And Norra, Norra who must be dead, who when he’d woken up in that smoky room was--he could see the outline of her--

He shrugs off his greatcoat. Undoes his boots, strips off his tunic, his garters, his socks, his jodphurs. The underthings need to go too, they’re disgusting. There’s a little sink in the corner of the room that emits real water. He dabs at himself, even though medically it will do nothing, and the cold is pimpling his skin. 

Ren hands him a blanket that, for some bizarre reason, sits folded up at the foot of his bed. Like this is some sort of hotel or whorehouse. He’ll have to talk to someone about all this excess, he thinks, as he lowers himself onto the bed, wrapped up in the blanket to keep his germs and warmth to himself. It does feel nice, though. Smooth against one’s skin. One has to admit that.

Ren shoves himself closer. Amazing, that he’s still capable of that. He has the slightly sour scent of bacta about him--they never can quite make it smell properly clean. 

It stank in that room, absolutely stank. The candles knocked over, the smoke, the stains against the walls. When he’d woken up, he’d brushed a piece of fabric off his face, slick and sweet-smelling. 

Something rolls down the side of his face and into the sheets. 

He can just make it out, silver as it is, meant to catch the light. 

A tiny bead.

His tears are a physiological reaction, shock, nothing more. He can’t halt them, though, just as he can’t stop the tremors running through his body. Hysteria, if he can’t control it, he’ll get a knock from here to the sea--

Ren’s arm is around him, pulling him close. 

_How can he do this, when he’s still so very ill. He’s a monster, really_ , but just to be close to him feels so good, and if he isn’t quite strong enough to face the world right now he’s strong enough for this, to be in the arms of a demon, a dark lord, whatever Ren fancies himself to be but isn’t in this moment. He’s kind. Perhaps he’s wrong about this. Armitage doesn’t know kindness very well. Perhaps neither of them do, perhaps neither of them can be kind very often.

But Armitage thinks that it’s kind to hold him, to stroke his back while he coughs and sputters and makes embarrassing noises. There’s nothing fanciful about this, certainly--he’s no pretty thing right now, or Ren’s screaming general. No reason to do this, except care. 

“Forgive me,” he says, once he can trust himself to speak. “My--oh, my breath must be disgusting.” All of him must be disgusting at this point, but he’s breathing right in Ren’s face, so presumably that’s the most disgusting part. 

Ren’s lips crook upward, half a smile. What Hux can see of his face is peaceful. Poor, poor Kylo, all swathed in white. He won’t look the same again.

Hux reaches out, places a hand very carefully atop the bandages. They’re surprisingly dry underneath his fingers, almost soft. Ren doesn’t wince or cry out when he tucks his face against the remaining skin of his neck.

_ What’s underneath now? _

It doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter at all.  _ My monster _ , Hux thinks, as much as and as hard as he can. 

And oddly, to himself, as he falls asleep: _This is a_ _wedding night._


	9. Chapter 9

Kylo Ren has finally become a monster.

Not fully, not totally. He can never be what his grandfather was--his grandfather’s long existence has seen to that, the dark knowledge of reconstructing his body preserved in the Empire and refined in the Order throughout the years. There are ways to restore, and rebuild, and conceal. _ It will just take time and care, _ the doctor had said, removing the final round of bacta wraps from his burns.  _ You can look almost exactly as you did, Master Ren. With time. _

But for now, he’ll be a monster. He enjoys it.

This is nothing like the slash that Rey dealt him, healing neat and clean. From scalp to flank, one half of him is human, pale, ordinary flesh, dotted with moles and covered with fine, dark hair. The other half is extraordinary. His skin cracks, the scars like hardened lava, breaking open to reveal red, raw flesh below. One of his ears is half gone, although now that his hair has grown back, it doesn’t show. That ear was too big, anyway, he tells himself. 

Besides, Armitage doesn’t flinch from him.

The pain is like a readymade path into the dark side, although it doesn’t hurt that badly. He can control it. Also, there are painkillers. But he can control it. What’s even better is how  _ other _ people react. Men and women cower when he walks down the halls. Avert their eyes. Their knees buckle into involuntary curtsies, without even so much as a touch from the Force. He feels their fear, and better, their  _ respect  _ for his powers. He’s no longer Snoke’s little wizard, or a spoiled young man. He’s a  _ beast _ . They won’t come after him again.

There are rumors--and he’s heard them through other conduits than Hux--that lying on his deathbed, he murdered 20 men with a twist of his fingers. It’s an exaggeration, he only killed the one. He has had most of the others killed, the old ones, the ones who still thought they could threaten him. But on that day, it was only the one.

Kylo remembers going through Raydus’s thoughts, slowly, methodically, tearing each memory from the man’s psyche. Perisingo-Yaxx had survived his daughter’s death, actually fled the scene, had been found by some troopers in an escape pod, dazed, attempting to work the ejection controls. Ren’s loyal troopers had brought the traitor to the Supreme Leader’s sickbed, where he was summarily interrogated, then executed. 

Kylo did it alone; he didn’t trust Armitage not to shoot the man, even if he asked him not to. Besides, Hux’s hatred was so strong, and so strangely flattering underneath all the spit-flecked screaming, that Kylo could hardly concentrate on his prisoner.

_ You dared to go against us. Scum, traitor, you and your bitch of a daughter…  _ Kylo remembers Hux’s lips, twisting in rage.

It turned out that Raydus hadn’t known of his daughter’s plans, although he hadn’t exactly been loyal. He had intended to use his daughter as a source of information and influence, which he could barter to whichever side pleased him best at the moment. Other men in the Order, the gangs of wild space, even the terrorists, if they ever grew strong enough. 

At first, Hux, uncertain and seemingly alone, had seemed Raydus’s best prospect, but when the great Supreme Leader had shown an interest in Norra, Raydus had decided to aim for a higher target. As had Norra, but her intentions, at least, had been pure death. Raydus had no loyalty to anything at all except his own cleverness. He was nothing, even more of a nothing than his daughter.

Norra. She had plotting against him all along, ready to sacrifice herself for the whims of a group of traitors. Made herself into something inhuman, a living weapon, just to kill him. If he hadn’t been warned in time, been able to throw up even the most pathetic shield, she would have succeeded. 

He doesn’t despise Norra, doesn’t fear her, not like Hux does. He almost admires her, the way that she concealed her intentions from him. It couldn’t have been easy, to control her thoughts that way, especially for someone without a connection to the Force. He lets himself think of Rey, and how they had been so incredibly close, until at the last moment she had been swayed toward--not darkness, but nothingness. Useless self-sacrifice, suicide, death simply to preserve one’s ego, an archaic, childish sense of right and wrong. This was the rebellion’s way, and Norra had been corrupted into it as well. 

The certainty he had felt from her, in her last moments. 

_ I’d rather die than live under you. _

He had thought that Armitage was like that, too. Inhuman. The braying technocrat, bent on nothing more than the destruction of various planets and his rivals. Had he decided not to pry into Armitage’s worries, Armitage would have remained that to him. Probably one of them would be dead by now. Kylo is almost certain it it would have been Hux, but either way, it would have been a sad waste.

Kylo has watched him at his projecto-desk, where Hux strips off his tunic and works in his undershirt, legs curled around the posts of his chair. He does have a very good technical mind, suited much better to this than to battle. The slope of his shoulders, the slight sag of his stomach and chest, the way he rests his stylus against his lips while he’s thinking. He does have a very good technical mind, as long as he’s not in battle. (Kuatta has been won, by a Captain Mireno. Kylo reminds himself to keep an eye on her, although Hux has been given credit for the battle, too, for protecting the Supreme Leader’s life against conspiracy; this credit was his public reward. His private reward was first pick of all the remains of Kuatta’s technology). 

No, Hux Isn’t like Norra. For better or worse, he’s--well, he’s human. He has his uncertainties, his likes, although those may be few, and his dislikes, although those may be rather strong. He wants to live.

Also, unlike Norra, Hux has been perfectly happy under him. At least physically.

They sleep together now. It’s much stranger than just fucking, but it’s easier to rest when you know someone has your back. It’s strange that that person is Hux, that he expects Hux not to kill him, that he expects Hux to protect him. That they’re--together, in a way. He hadn’t expected that to happen.

He shouldn’t fuck it up this time, though. He’s more mature than he used to be. He’s technically been a married man, after all--not for more than a few minutes, but he and Norra did manage to exchange vows. 

It feels unequal, as if perhaps Armitage isn’t emotionally on the same level. As if some sort of acknowledgment needs to be made.

So this cycle, Kylo has prepared a treat for him. A sort of honeymoon suite, tucked away in the seemingly endless corridors of the  _ Finalizer _ . Milk-colored drapery and sheets, a wide porthole that dims for privacy, clears to reveal the entire universe. (This part of the ship is facing the Ausha galaxy. They can sit in the light of a billion stars.) Low lights that look like candles, for when the room is dark. (He’s not fucking with real candles ever again, but these are almost the same.) Thin-stemmed, real violets strewn across the bedspread.

He’s even had a dress made to Armitage’s measurements. It’s not what he would have chosen himself, the gigantic skirt seems old-fashioned, but Armitage had fantasized about fabric flowing around his legs and by stars, he would have it. 

He won’t be wearing that dress for long, anyway. 

When Kylo opens the door, the smell of paia leaves rushes out. He sneezes, and something splits open a tiny bit on his face. 

Hux wrinkles his nose--can’t blame him for that, the scent is overwhelming--but his expression stays guarded. Kylo watches as Hux paces around the perimeter of the room, approaches the dress, draped across its mannequin.

“Did I do it wrong?”

“No--I mean, parts of it could be better.” Armitage pinches a corner of a drape, rubs it between his fingers. It  _ is  _ polysilk, not real, and he should have guessed that Armitage would somehow know. “But no.”

“It’s a piece of clothing. It’s not wrong to wear it, it’s just--”

“No.” Kylo catches an image of a woman, a hateful, pale little face that he doesn’t recognize at first. Norra, in Hux’s thoughts. He won’t be like her, like a traitor. 

There’s hatred there, of what Norra did, and older hatreds, of what Norra was, that Kylo will never understand or want to understand. It’s ugly, not in the way that Hux fears himself to be and Kylo wants himself to be. 

“I’ll wear it then.” Hux is much thinner than him, but perhaps round the waist? Kylo tears the skirt away from the dress’ top half. It comes away much too easily in his hands--this thing must be cheap, it wasn’t worthy of Armitage anyway. With a bit more tearing, he manages to get it over his tunic, holds it closed with one hand. It’s sort of on. Looking down, he looks like a sugar dolly, the kind that his nanny would buy him to eat on the holidays.

“You look ridiculous.” Hux has his hand over his mouth, but from the wrinkles round his eyes anyone could tell he’s smiling. 

“I think I look very graceful and appealing.”

“You do.” Hux reaches over to adjust the waistband. Suddenly Kylo feels Armitage’s lips against his cheek, half a slight pressure against dead skin, half warm and welcoming and alive.

Armitage looks away, as if he’s shamed himself with his affection. Kylo is overcome by the impulse to grasp him, to surround him, to overcome any part of Armitage that is hesitant to worship him.

They collapse onto the bed together. This part is clumsy--Kylo tells himself that Armitage must never have kissed much in his life--but he does have an enthusiastic mouth. 

As he proves when he slips to the floor, working his way between Kylo’s knees. Kylo watches as Armitage pulls off his boots, his socks, his leggings, then ducks his head under the skirt. It’s the most ridiculous thing and also the sweetest; the layers of fabric pulse in and out as Armitage’s mouth works up and down.

“Wait, let me see you.” Kylo gathers the skirt to his chest, fumbling at the layers. There are so damned many.

Hux tilts his head up, his lips fat, wet, and red. “Dirty of you, flipping your skirt like that.”

Kylo wants to say it’s not dirty, it’s normal, but he’ll be generous this time. “So good of you. You pretty thing, fucking a dirty boy like me.”

“You should be grateful,” Armitage retorts, but Kylo can feel the excitement radiating off him. The enthusiasm is evident in other ways, as well.

Afterwards, when he’s rubbing the remains of a polysilk drape over Hux’s swollen, leaking cock, and listening to Hux’s breath catch in his throat, he’s grateful. And after that, when Armitage is curled up against his good side, flesh slightly cold as always, snoring slightly, he’s still grateful.  _ It could have turned out very differently, but it didn’t.  _

Kylo twists a violet’s stem between his fingers, ties a knot in it. Someone had taught him to do this, a long time ago. He doesn’t think about that someone as he slips the makeshift ring onto Armitage’s finger.

Armitage stirs in his deep sleep, and sighs. The heat of his breath calms Kylo.  _ We’re both here. _

On the verge of his own dreams, Kylo catches a glimpse of two great beasts in deep waters, and is pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing a non-hellscape ending is surprisingly difficult! Thank you for reading!


End file.
